Birch Wood and Dragon Heartstring
by Ada Kensington
Summary: Greetings, potential readers! This is a Snape fic, but one with a twist. If you're still apprehensive then check out the reviews before you read. Don't be put off by the opening scene of chapter one, it's meant to be odd: like a dream. UPDATE: Ch. 10
1. Chapter 1

Birch-Wood and Dragon-Heartstring, 11¾ Inches

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AN: Heaps of fluffy and wonderful thanks go out to The Pinch-Hitting Beta, Birgit. She rocketh muchly. The undisputed fact is that Birgit Rockamole! 

I don't really post my HP fiction on that much anymore, but this story is here by special request. Iva1201 wrote to me and asked for it, so here it is, Iva - I hope you like it.

ETA: Oh yes, one more thing... As I write, this fic has managed to garner twenty-two reviews. That's okay. I think I'm doing alright, considering most of these fics here at ff dot net have about fifteen minutes' worth of 'front page' time. But then I checked my stats and I discovered that over eight-hundred people read this fic! It boggled my bloody mind. Eight-hundred versus twenty-two. You don't have to be a math scholar to see that there's a rather large amount of disparity between the reader/review ratio. So... what I'm trying to say is, if you like it, please say! It doesn't have to be anything particularly profound. Just "Cheers, Ada. I like it so far" would be fab.

Thanks, guys! 

Now on with the fic!

* * *

The air pulses, and Ollivander is fascinated. 

He floats in silence, high up above the clouds in the starry night sky - his cloak rippling and snapping, like a ship's sail, in the cold breeze. Below him, the colour of the clouds swirls, frozen, as if they were blind etchings for spectator delight. The dusty silver of the full moon scatters on his exposed face, glinting off skin and hair, casting gossamer threads of light into the night. The creature is here somewhere, he knows, drawing on the power of the moon and the night air, spinning a cocoon of living, shivering silk within which to encase him. As if reading his thoughts, a single tendril of air curls treacherously around his ankle. Yet there is no worry in his mind. He has done this before. He knows exactly what to do.

Before him, a hand stretches out, reaching for a strand of the silvery, fibrous ether. It is his own hand, and it appears almost transparent in the unnatural glare of the full moon: the skin, pale, taut and shining, stretched over protruding bone. As his hand makes to touch it, the ether shies away with a faint sigh of distress. His thin lips quirk with amusement, and with a swiftness defying his aged appearance, he snatches it, rips it, draws it to him. He can feel it beneath his clenched fist. It is sticky, like a cobweb, rippling and desperate. Icy blue eyes regard it dispassionately. He smiles.

The creature...

Now he has it.

Whirling around him, whipping up his robes into a frenzy, sending electric blue sparks crackling through his white hair, its neighbours, as though sensing a break in the ranks, attempt to close in all the tighter. Again, a smile. His wand rises. His lips move. The air dissipates. The defence is broken.

_And there..._

There, he sees it.

It affords him no time at all. But there is no reason why it should. It knows why he is here. The briefest of moments passes in a flash. The air pulses once again, and a formless, writhing column of elemental energy rushes at him, aiming to kill, to rid itself of the irritant pursuing it. But Ollivander is ready and he raises his wand, his eyes fixed upon it. He murmurs the incantation and just before it reaches him, a pair of jaws - lined with rows of teeth, impossibly sharp and glittering like glass - are forced into being from nothingness and snap at him ferociously, only to miss. Hissing, frustrated, it curls in on itself in mid-air with a noise like a whip-crack and turns to face the wizard, baring its teeth and flapping its great wings that fan out majestically above it, that curl lovingly around its lithe, silvery-white body as two great plumes of colourless smoke. Its eyes burn in its sockets with a cold, spectral fire and he laughs as he feels the weight of its gaze pressing down upon his heart, freezing, constricting. But this does not matter, for he knows he does not have long to wait.

_And there..._

The air pulses. A searing heat. The night sky is suddenly ablaze. Scarlet, fiery orange and gold roar and dance before his eyes. A star is falling. It is what he has been waiting for. But he must be swift, for now he hears the creature crying out in fear, a keening, a whimpering - unbecoming of such a noble creature. For it knows.

A wry smile. He speaks the incantation. The creature turns to flee, but finds that it cannot. With a bang, the star falls into his cupped hands, burning with a beautiful, inconsiderate fierceness, jettisoning sharp rays and piercing the mist, the frost and the abjuring clouds. The light of the creature's eyes pales as it looks upon him. Unmoved, he closes his eyes, and at his command, with a fizzing, sputtering start, the star thunders towards his quarry, and with a shuddering boom that shakes the very heavens, it drives itself deep into the heart of the creature, which roars in agony as it twists and writhes, drifting between form and formlessness, falling through clouds and plummeting to earth - fluttering like a streamer of paper - in a ghostly, flickering sliver of silver light.

And right at that moment, eleven year old Severus Snape jolted awake in his room in Spinner's End with a yell.

* * *

Moonlight streamed in through the window, illuminating a narrow bedroom with meagre furnishings. A rickety desk and chair sat in a corner; a battered, woebegone wardrobe squatted in another; and a bookshelf filled to capacity - the extras scattered about randomly on the bare floor - sat next to an austere-looking single bed, upon which young Severus Snape sat bolt upright and very much awake. His black hair, freshly washed and smelling of shampoo, was slick with sweat, his breaths came short and sharp, and he was trembling as though he'd just run a mile. Grimacing, he drew his knees up into his chest and rested his head upon them, trying to calm himself down. 

He was also angry. Angry with himself, angry and astonished that a silly dream could cause him to react like this. He was eleven, for heaven's sake - and he was going to Hogwarts soon!

_Get a grip and pull yourself together! It was a dream. Just a dream..._

Yet it had seemed so real. He had seen the strange Hunter's eyes glinting with triumph as he broke the spell, had smelt the frost and mist clinging to exposed skin and hair and had felt... Had felt...

Slowly, hesitantly, he felt a shaking hand moving upwards to touch his heart. It was fluttering in his chest like a caged bird. In his dream when the Hunter had sent the star blazing towards the creature, he had felt the full weight of the force slamming into it, crushing its fragile ribcage, compressing, burning, consuming flesh and bone and turning them to cinders and ashes. He had felt its pain...

For a moment, his hand on his heart, he remained very still, as though he were considering something. Then he threw the covers back and, raising himself up on his knees, he peered out of the window.

Over the rooftops of the houses across the road, he could make out the forest just beyond - in the early hours of the morning, an indistinct, black, shivering mass - and in the darkness of his bedroom, hardly even daring to breathe, he watched and waited.

About a minute later, it came. A weak flicker of silver light in the forest. He felt an urgent jolt in the pit of his stomach.

_It's still alive..._

To this day, he would not be able to say what possessed him that night, would be unable to tell what drove him to do it. All he knew was that in that instant, it was of absolute importance that he saw the creature, that he got to it as swiftly as his legs could carry him.

And so Severus Snape leapt from his bed, forced his feet into his school shoes, pulled a thick, woolen sweater over his head, opened his window, and climbed out, down the usual exit he used when he didn't want to wake his father, down the criss-cross latticework of wood covered in trailing ivy until his feet hit the small square of lawn his mother had used as a drying green. For a moment, he hesitated, looking up at his father's bedroom window. The light was off. Muttering a brief thanks to whatever deity seemed to be watching over him tonight, he shot off down the close and raced out onto the main road, heading straight for the forest, driven by a terribly palpable sense of urgency.

_Please don't be dead! I can help you! Hold on..._

But could he help? He was a wizard, yes, and he knew some spells, but he didn't have a wand yet to practise them.

For some reason, this thought only caused him to run faster down the deserted street. Maybe when he found it, he could see just how badly it had been hurt and then go for help. But, he realised as the thought crept treacherously into the confines of his mind, who could he call for help?

_If only mum were here..._

When he reached the end of the road, he didn't slow down as he approached the grassy embankment, but hit it at a run, hurtling down the hill and plunging headlong into the forest. The ground was soaked with dew and his pyjama bottoms were getting filthy; he knew he would pay for it in the morning, but right now he didn't care. Tree trunks flashed past in a blur and the dim amber glow of the streetlights had faded to black. His head darted from right to left, searching, searching for the faintest glimmer, for a sign that the creature was still living. And there, to his left - an eerie silvery light, fatuous bright, flickered weakly in amongst the trees. His stomach lurched. It was dying...

"Please... Wait!" he gasped, as he pushed his way through and ducked under low-lying branches. "I'm here! Please, hold on! I can help you! I won't let him hurt you! I can..."

As he pushed the last branch out of his way, covered in mud, soaking and exhausted, he caught his first glimpse of the dragon and gasped, his black eyes round with astonishment and wonder.

It was, in its present form, resolutely solid and it was both the saddest and the most beautiful thing eleven year old Severus had ever seen. Its scales were pure white and shone, opalescent, covering its sleek and strong serpentine body. It had no legs, but its wings, its magnificent wings, trailed out forlornly across the forest floor - bat-like, but filmy and transparent, coated with an argent shimmer. It had no spines, like other dragons did, but instead had a flowing mane of hair of a striking cobalt blue - a blue that matched its eyes, that gazed, unfocused, at Severus, through half-closed lids. Blood, black and viscous like oil, coated the forest floor making it damp and sticky. Severus kept slipping on it as he drew cautiously nearer, wondering what had caused it to lose so much blood. And then, his question was answered. Severus had to fight back a wave of nausea at the sight of the wound. The impact of the star had all but blown a hole in its chest, and its heart, purplish and pulsating, was raw and exposed beneath glistening fragments of shattered bone. Transfixed, Severus' mouth gaped in horror as he watched it - still beating - at a loss for words and for what to do.

But the dragon saved him the trouble. For the first of many times, he heard it speak to him, its words effortlessly entering his thoughts, though its presence was weak. It said: "I am not long for this world, young wizard."

Severus said nothing for a while. He knew what the dragon was saying was probably true, but that didn't make him feel any better. He had come out here in hope of saving it - and if his father found out he'd been out in the forest at this time of night to go and help an injured dragon, he was pretty sure he'd be in big trouble. If he did manage to save it, though, then it would be worth getting into trouble. There was no way he was going back until he had at least tried.

"Can't I do anything?" he asked.

The dragon closed its eyes and fell silent. For a horrible moment, Severus thought it had died, but then it made a rumbling noise and opened its eyes. It seemed to have been considering something.

"Yes, young wizard," it said. "There is something that can be done."

"Then tell me!" Severus said impatiently, frustrated and bewildered as to why the dragon would waste time like this when it knew it was dying. "Bloody well tell me, you stupid dragon, or I'll leave you lying here for him to come and rip your heart out! And he will," he added angrily, "I know what wand cores are made of!"

There was a pause and then, unbelievably, the dragon began to laugh a low, rumbling laugh, its scales shaking with mirth, though its breaths were ragged and it was obvious it was in pain. "Stupid dragon, am I?" the dragon said, clearly amused. "You are proud and brave, young wizard. There are few who would even dare to try and capture me, let alone insult me to my face - especially one so young and inexperienced."

Visibly affronted, and bristling from the allusion to his lack of knowledge and expertise, Severus' lip curled. However, at the same time, the dragon's words brought the gravity of his situation crashing down upon him like a ton of bricks. Here he was, small and skinny even for his age, outside in a forest in the wee hours of the morning, alone, unable to call for help even if he wanted to, and standing in his pyjama bottoms bandying words with a dragon that could probably, with one swift movement, snap his head clean off even in its weakened state. Severus started to feel a bit sick and inwardly scolded himself for being so incredibly stupid. He was terrified, but he did not let himself show it, for that was a sign of weakness (as his father often said) and the dragon would take advantage if it knew he was weak. So instead, he drew himself up to his full height and looked the dragon straight in the eye.

"Then if I'm so young and inexperienced, perhaps you won't be needing my help," he said bitterly.

There was a tense moment of silence as each looked at the other - dragon and boy wizard. Electric blue met smouldering black. In the forest nothing stirred and the only sound was that of the dragon's laboured breathing. Neither appeared willing to give in, their pride unwilling to let them. Minutes passed without a sound and Severus had to steel his will to keep himself from shaking or running away.

Then...

"That is not what I meant," the dragon said, its voice barely a whisper. "Please... Would you help me?"

Unbidden, at the sound of the dragon's plea, the urge to heal rose strongly within Severus, and genuine, heartfelt concern for the dragon's plight crept back into the corners of his heart which had lately been held by fear.

"What do I have to do?" he asked quietly. His voice quavered a little, but his eyes shone with determination. He knew what had to be done, and if there was any way he could help this dragon, he'd do it if it killed him.

"Come closer..." it breathed, "...and place your hand upon my heart."

_What!_

At that moment, Severus' resolve nearly failed him and he recoiled instinctively, the mingled look of shock and betrayal upon his young face unmistakable even in the gloom of the forest. "Do you think I'm that stupid?" he hissed. "You'll snap my head off as soon as I take a step closer!"

"Upon my honour, young wizard, I shall not harm you," the dragon said earnestly. "Not before, nor even after, for then I shall be eternally bound to you. And besides," it added with a touch of amusement, "why would I kill my rescuer? Then a dragon's honour would be worth nothing and that would truly be a tragedy."

Severus briefly agonised over the dragon's logic and then came to a decision, nodding his head once. Saying nothing, his lips thinned into a grim expression of determination, he began to edge slowly towards the prostrate creature, his right hand stretched out before him. His mouth felt dry as cotton and he was shaking, though now he wasn't sure whether that was out of fear or exhilaration. Up close, he could see the dragon's pearly-scaled chest rising and falling - could hear it wheezing and gasping for breath.

There was so much blood.

He could feel his feet slithering around on it beneath him, threatening to send him to earth with a bump. He could smell it, unpleasantly hot and tangy, and had to fight an irresistible urge to slap his hands over his nose and mouth. There was so much blood, Severus even imagined he could taste it - and wanted nothing more than a glass of water to wash it away. But beyond all reason, still he advanced.

Then, at last, he stopped in front of the dragon and knelt down on the ground. He felt blood seeping through his pyjama bottoms and a faint echo in the back of his mind reminded him that he was going to be in so much trouble in the morning, but he didn't much care. Slowly, hesitantly, he placed his hand upon the dragon's heart and instantly withdrew it again, repulsed, when it contracted, fiery-hot and wet beneath his fingers.

"Please..." the dragon whispered hoarsely.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, Severus briefly cast his eyes skyward.

_Why am I doing this?_

Then he steeled himself, screwed his eyes shut and plunged his hand deep into the open wound and wrapped his pale fingers around the dragon's heart. The dragon thrashed and roared in pain, its whip-like tail thrashing and flailing wildly. Panic gripped Severus and he cried out as he felt himself being tossed around on the ground, on his knees, by the dragon, and so he clutched all the more tightly to the one thing he knew for certain he had a hold on. The dragon's roars grew louder, more ferocious and it twisted and writhed and hissed and spat and Severus felt his hands slipping...

"I c-can't hold on… much longer!" he screamed. "I can't hold on if you keep fighting me! Stop fighting me! STOP IT!"

And then it happened.

Severus, up to his elbows in dragon, felt the wound contract.

_What the hell was that?_

Severus looked down at his arms in horror as a tingling sensation spread up them. Instinctively, he tried to pull them away, but they were stuck fast. The tingling rapidly began to spread to his chest, his legs, his feet - every part of his body - and his mind was screaming at him to get away, but he found that he had neither the will nor the desire to resist. He could still feel the dragon's heart in his hands, but it was beating strongly now - and it was wonderful! It was the most wonderful thing in the world! Flesh, sinew and bone shifted, shaped itself and reformed in his hands, and as he felt all his strength going into making this happen, he realised he was grinning and laughing.

_I'm doing magic..._

Somehow, Severus knew what he had to do, and just as he felt diamond-hard scales closing in around him, he slid both his arms out in one fluid motion and fainted.

* * *

Dawns rosy fingers gently prised away the last remaining traces of darkness, giving light to the pale sky. In the forest, Severus awoke, his limbs stiff and frozen. Immediately, he went through the inventory check one usually performs when one wakes up in a strange place and can't quite remember getting there, always concluding with the ultimate question: Why am I here? 

_Oh..._

With a start, he remembered the dragon and sat up, automatically scanning the maze of trees to see whether it was still there. It wasn't, but instead, Severus was greeted with the sight of another ominously familiar presence. He froze. A pair of icy blue eyes regarded him, on the surface, with amusement, but Severus could see that there was nothing about the situation that amused the man in the slightest. He wore a heavy, leather cloak and boots and his wand at his side in a sheath. His face was lined and his hair was wild and white, but Severus knew that despite his aged appearance, this was not a man to cross.

"So, how did you do it, boy?" the hunter asked casually, fixing him with that unnerving misty gaze.

Severus drew his legs up toward his chest and wrapped his arms around him but did not take his eyes off the Hunter. Instead, he shivered defiantly at him as if daring him to say anything else, while he did some quick thinking. Then, he settled on his approach and replied, as scathingly as he dared, "If you touch me, I'll call the police."

The Hunter laughed, but again, there was no humour in it. "Don't be obtuse, boy," he said, his voice deceptively soft. "You're covered in amphiptere blood - up to your elbows in it. How did you do it?"

_An amphiptere?_

He'd only read about them in books, and even then some had argued that the evidence for its existence was tenuous at best, mainly because no one had ever seen them except in dreams. He should have known. It had no legs, only wings, and it had come from the sky - formless like smoke - in his dreams. His heart swelled with a sense of great privilege of not only having seen one in the flesh, but of having spoken to one.

_Hah! How's that for evidence, you tedious old gits!_

But these thoughts were shoved unceremoniously to the back of his mind. He had more pressing matters to attend to...

"Blood?" he said flatly, an eyebrow raised, as if he had serious doubts about the man's sanity. "It's mud. I've just got dirty from lying here all night. I sleepwalk all the time - it's nothing new! And what the hell is an ampleteer, anyway?"

"I should hope you would be able to tell me, having managed to heal one of a grievous, mortal wound with neither a wand nor any magical education," the Hunter replied, unrelenting.

"Look, mister," Severus snapped, getting angry that the Hunter wasn't buying his story, "I don't know what you're talking about, but if you don't leave me alone, I'll call the police." Wrapping his sweater around him, he staggered to his feet, ignoring the yammering protests of every aching muscle in his body, and threw the Hunter the filthiest glare he could muster. Looking over his shoulder as he started off back home, he added coldly, "And if you follow me, there'll be hell to pay."

"Oh, I don't doubt that, boy," the Hunter said gravely as he watched the skinny, dark-haired boy with the proud, black eyes weave his way through the forest until he was out of sight, "I don't doubt that at all..."

From somewhere in the trees, there came a faint but menacing hiss and the hem of Ollivander's robes began to sway even though there was no breeze. Around him, the air began to feel uncomfortably heavy.

"I'm impressed," he announced, "you managed to call on him, get him out here and convince him to heal you in time. And you picked a good one too," he added thoughtfully. "Most fortunate for you. He will grow up to be a powerful wizard, there's no doubt about that. And you're watching over him already, that's good to see. Yes, it is good to know that a dragon's honour is still worth something." This comment elicited a wry smile from Ollivander, before he added, more seriously, "Though is the boy aware of the cost?"

Suddenly, he felt a band of air pressure creeping like a noose around his neck. He laughed derisively.

"So you didn't tell him. No, I didn't think so. Though he may have went ahead with it anyway, even if you had told him. He seems the type. Could have saved yourself a bit of trouble if you weren't so concerned about saving your own hide."

As the pressure on his neck grew stronger, he deftly extricated his wand from its sheath and held it aloft.

"He's going to be very angry when he finds out, you know. At least you could have afforded him the courtesy of having a choice in the matter."

Then he uttered the incantation, spun once, twice, three times on the spot before disappearing with a sharp crack, leaving the forest, once again, in silence.

The air pulsed, and all at once, the pressure lifted. Slowly, gradually, the dawn light penetrated the rustling, emerald mass and the birds felt that they could safely sing once again.

* * *

A few minutes later, Severus clambered through his bedroom window, filthy, shivering and absolutely exhausted. When he felt his feet touch the carpet, he collapsed onto it in a heap. His head was spinning and he felt strangely empty. Then he noticed that there was something in his hand, something he had been holding, clenched tightly in his fist. 

_What the?_

Slowly, he uncurled his fist and, with astonishment, he saw a silvery string of gossamer thread glittering in his palm.

_A dragon heartstring?_

His eyes wide, he stroked it with a thin finger and smiled a little. It was fragile and felt cool and smooth like silk. Fascinated, he gazed at it for a while, before he reached under his bed for one of the empty jars he kept his potions ingredients in. Gently, he placed the heartstring inside and screwed the lid tight shut.

Feeling very, very tired, he took off his wet clothes and, after he put on clean pyjamas, he crawled into bed. Smiling, he remembered that it was Saturday, and his last thoughts before he drifted off to sleep were that he might just get away with this, after all.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Birch-Wood and Dragon-Heartstring, 11¾ Inches

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Biggest thanks in the universe go out to the amazing Birgit of the Sugar Quill for making sure everything is in order. 

If you would, guys, please review. Even if it's just a one-liner to say you liked it.

Cheers.

Ada.

* * *

_"Severus... SEVERUS! Godsdammit boy, there's that old wizard at the door for you! Get your arse down here - and you'd better be ready to go!"_

Tobias Snape's dulcet tones reached his son's ears in his bedroom a floor up less by wafting through the door like Zephirus' sweet breath and more by thundering up the stairs like Tanngrisni and Tanngnost: taking the door out on the way in and battering him unceremoniously over the head. Or at least, that's what it felt like.

Absently, the thought flitted across his mind that it was strange - strange why Thor of all people had opted for a pair of mouldering old goats to pull his chariot. Why not horses? Or bears? Or griffins? The latter two would have at least conveyed the right image. But then, he supposed - and a slight smile tugged at one corner of his mouth at the thought - that Mr. Sturlusson had held goats in high esteem as the fiercest animals in all Iceland. Ruefully, he recalled an early visit to the zoo with his mother and father and the great, hulking black goat that had knocked him over and ran off with not only his ice-cream cone but a large clump of his hair (to add injury to insult). None of the other animals had caused him trouble that day. Not the lions, not the tigers, not the bears. It was then that he supposed maybe Thor had chosen well after all.

_Bloody goat..._

And he realised, yet again, that his thoughts were wandering.

At present, he was standing clutching the glass jar that held the heartstring he had been given only a few weeks ago, looking down at it thoughtfully. He had been ready for hours, but had been just about to head downstairs when the thought occurred to him that he might be able to bring his heartstring along with him and have it made into a wand. He smiled and held the glass up to his eye, peering in at the gently glowing, silvery string. How many students could have ever boasted in Hogwarts' History that they had managed to procure their own wand core? Not many, he'd wager, but now he would be one of them.

"SEVERUS? SEVERUS! DON'T MAKE ME COME UP THERE, BOY!"

Rolling his eyes, he stuffed the jar into his backpack and left his room, closing his room door behind him with a little more force than necessary. Last night, he had received a note informing him that someone from Hogwarts would be arriving to take him to Diagon Alley. He had no idea how they knew he'd been planning to go in himself and stay the night in London so he could catch the train in the morning. The apparent omniscience of the letter-writer had unnerved him a little, and when he had taken it downstairs to show his father, he'd started ranting on about "Big Brother" and "Orwell" and "Bloody Wizards" and other such nonsense he'd heard hundreds of times before. At the end of his rant, Severus had asked him somewhat scathingly whether he'd actually read _1984_ or whether he'd just heard someone from work talking about it. His father had then duly clipped him round the ear and sent him upstairs, red-faced, and hadn't spoken to him until he told him to get up and get dressed this morning.

Running downstairs, his shoulder-length black hair fluttering behind him, he dodged a book and a pair of shoes, rounded the corner and jammed to a halt, his mouth open and his hand still on the banister.

"Pleased to meet you, Severus."

Standing before him in the hallway with his father was a man: an old, tall man with long, silvery white hair and a beard to match. He was definitely a wizard. Dressed in indigo robes, the man's startlingly blue eyes regarded him with amusement over a pair of half-moon spectacles that sat, perching, upon his crooked nose. Their eyes met and Severus flinched, actually taking a step back. Stricken, he remembered the cold eyes of the Hunter. They were so similar to those of this wizard that the resemblance startled him, and all sorts of wild and fantastical suspicions began clamouring for his attention. Polyjuice Potion? Appearance-Altering charms? Wigs? Beards? Muggle disguises, undetectable by magic? Instantly, the amusement in the man's eyes evaporated and was replaced by a mingled look of curiosity and concern. He looked as though he was about to open his mouth and say something when--

"For god's sake, lad, speak when you're spoken to and answer Professor Dumbledore," his father barked.

At the mention of that name, his fear vanished, its place resumed by something bordering upon awe and respect. So this was the man, the most powerful sorcerer of the age, Headmaster of Hogwarts and Minister for Magic in all but name? How he could even have thought...

"Professor... P-Professor Dumbledore?" he stuttered, cursing himself inwardly for being so stupid. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at Hogwarts?"

For a moment, Dumbledore appeared to deliberate over the answer, before replying, slowly, "Yes, Severus. By all accounts I should be at Hogwarts. The day before the commencement of a new academic year is always, I must admit, a very busy time for me. But," he added significantly, his eyes searching Severus' "I must occasionally allow myself time to give help to those who need it."

A moment passed in silence. He felt the weight of Dumbledore's benign gaze pressing uncomfortably upon him and he looked away. Then, inexplicably, coming totally out of the blue, he began to feel angry.

"I don't need your help," he said coldly.

"Perhaps not," Dumbledore answered gently, "but I believe it wise for you to accept, Severus--"

"I would have managed fine on my own!" Severus interrupted, the heat rising in his cheeks. "What? Do you think I'm a charity case? That, oh no, the poor boy's mother's gone mental and his father can't afford to take a day off work to get him to school and if you step in, it'll make it alright? That I can't do anything about it because... because I'm _too young_?" he shouted, spitting out the last two words with such venom, it was as though the very utterance of them left a foul taste in his mouth.

"That's enough, Severus," his father warned, laying a hand on his shoulder. But Severus shrugged it off angrily and turned on Dumbledore, his black eyes flashing.

"I don't need your help," he said, shaking with the indignity of it all. "I don't ever remember asking for it! I don't want you poking your nose into my business! I don't even know _how_ you know anything about my business in the first place! I want it to stop! I don't want you here, laughing at me behind your eyes like everyone else! I don't want you here - I want to do it on my own. I know I can, so why won't you all just _leave me the hell alone_?"

"Right, that's it - you're in trouble, lad. You've gone too far, telling things like that to a _complete stranger_," his father began, taking a step towards him, his voiced strained and his face red and shaking with fury just like his son's. "You don't deserve a place at that school, you ungrateful little--"

This time, Severus wasn't quick enough to dodge the blow. He stiffened and shut his eyes, waiting for the dull, throbbing pain of a freshly blooming bruise to manifest itself. But it never came. Cautiously, he opened one eye, then the other, to find that Dumbledore had caught his father's arm mid-swing. The Headmaster was looking down at his father with something young Severus readily recognised as anger - and, coming from Dumbledore, it was cold and it was powerful. His father's face had gone red and his mouth twitched. For a horrible moment, Severus thought his father was going to go for Dumbledore - but his fears went unrealised. His father, stung and ashamed, snatched his hand away from Dumbledore and stalked, tight-lipped, into the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind him without the slightest glance at his son.

For a moment, Dumbledore's gaze lingered upon the closed door before turning to back Severus, who was clinging to the banister, rather lost for words. This was incredibly, uncomfortably awkward. Right now, if he could have performed a Disillusionment Charm, he would have gladly shrunk back into the banister and disappeared from view. The Headmaster smiled at him, took a deft step forward and opened the front door, indicating that Severus step outside.

"Shall we?" he said, his blue eyes twinkling over his half-moon spectacles.

Severus swallowed and nodded mutely, shrugging his backpack onto his shoulders and stepping outside into the early morning light.

"Have you ever Apparated, Severus?" came the question from somewhere to his right.

Severus looked round just as Dumbledore followed him out, closing the front door with a quiet click.

"No."

"Do you know what Apparating is?"

"_Yes_."

This time there was a little more rancour in his reply, which made the Headmaster chuckle. This, in turn, made Severus scowl.

"Then I shall inform you that we are both about to perform a small, magical feat called Sidelong-Along-Apparition, which," he added rather too casually, "I suspect you also know of."

Technically, he was still very much a child, but no one could say that Severus wasn't an intelligent boy. He knew, for one thing, when someone was taking the piss. Thus, he was also aware of how to respond accordingly.

"I do believe so, Professor Dumbledore," he said, summoning all his powers of insincere sincerity to the fore. "Though I would not want to overestimate my knowledge and abilities. After all," he added with a touch of sarcasm he just could not bring himself to hold back, "I'm _far_ too young to know about such things, not having had any formal magical training."

This comment made Dumbledore laugh out loud. "My dear boy," he replied frankly, "the more I speak with you, the more you make me doubt it. You are unnaturally conversant for an eleven-year-old and also appear to have cultivated a degree of cynicism matched perhaps only by my esteemed colleague Professor Sweet."

"What does he teach, Sir?" Severus asked, his curiosity alight.

"The subject Professor Sweet teaches is an offshoot of the Defence Against the Dark Arts, only recently revived. He teaches Practical Defence," Dumbledore answered, smiling. "A very accomplished and talented man. You will learn a lot from him..." he hesitated ever-so-slightly before adding, "if you work hard."

"Ahhhh..."

_"If you work hard..." There's something Dumbledore has conveniently chosen to leave out. So the man's talented but a terrible teacher? Or is it something else?_

"Now then," he said, gesturing for Severus to stand by his side, "if you'd be so kind as to get a good, firm grip on my arm, we'll be off."

More than a little nervous, but remaining stoic, Severus looped his arm around Dumbledore's, pretending not to notice that the older wizard had to bend down a little for him to reach.

"Holding on tight, Severus? Good. In three... two... one..."

Immediately, Severus felt a sharp sense of displacement as everything blurred, then went completely black. He felt the weight of dimension pressing in on him from all directions as though he were forcing himself through an impossibly small slit torn in the fabric of reality. The sense of being compressed, constricted, was unbearable and he had to fight very hard to stop himself letting go of Dumbledore. And then, all at once, the colours and the light came back. Objects came into focus. He shook his head and blinked.

"Ahhh... Here we are, Severus," Dumbledore's voice informed him with a cheerful flippancy. "Diagon Alley. The heart of wizarding Capitalism and commerce in Britain."

_Diagon Alley..._

He had been here before a few times with his mother, but that was years ago and his recollection of the place was hazy at best. Around him, witches and wizards jostled their way through the crowds of shoppers who seemed to consist of those either in their element, represented by the grinning heads peeking and chattering over great piles of bags; the utterly frazzled, dragging children along the street by the hand, mid-tantrum; or the bored-stiff wizards trailing along, sullen-faced, behind their wives. The place was a mass of bustling colour, full of raised voices, and teeming with life and activity. The atmosphere was positively electric, and with a smile Severus knew right away that this was where he belonged.

"You don't care for it, Sir?" he asked, looking up at Dumbledore, with a shade of incredulity.

"Ahhh, you mistake me, my dear boy," the Headmaster replied, shaking his head. "I do care for the place. Very much, indeed. In fact, I must confess that I care, in particular, for Florean Fortescue's excellent establishment at which he sells the most delicious coconut, raspberry and pistachio sundaes."

The combination made Severus' nose wrinkle with distaste.

"However, when even the owner of such a well-known face as my own has to ready their elbows for battling their way through the pre-term crowds of frantic, last-minute consumers," he added with a dash of wry resignation, "I'm afraid I do not care for the place in the least and tend to barricade myself in my quarters at Hogwarts and wait out the worst."

"I can see why," Severus muttered, first impressions turning sour as a screaming child jarred his elbow and dropped its ice-cream cone at his foot.

"Indeed, Severus. So I propose we make this experience as painless as possible. You have all your books, I take it?"

"Yes, Sir," Severus nodded. "They were my mother's. And I have all my Potions ingredients, and a cauldron, and my robes, and all the rest of my equipment."

"Excellent!" Dumbledore cried, clapping his hands together. "Then, if you don't want a pet?"

Severus shook his head.

"All there is left to organise is the most important item on the list: your wand."

Severus' eyes lit up.

"Where do we have to go to get it?" he asked, genuinely excited, as it was his wand he was most looking forward to finally getting his hands on. All the spells he had learned from his mother's books that he could finally try out! Curses, hexes, jinxes, charms - anything! Everything!

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled mischievously. "Why, just turn around, Severus."

Whirling round, Severus was greeted with the sight of a narrow, crumbling, ancient-looking building, dry as dust and decayed, affording it the sinister air of a desiccated corpse - completely at odds with its vibrant surroundings. The faded sign above the door revealed the name of the shop and what it sold. It read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. Severus raised an eyebrow.

"In there?"

"In there," Dumbledore confirmed. "Now come, Severus. Let us find you a wand."

Severus felt Dumbledore's indigo robes brush past him and saw the old wizard rapping sharply on the door before entering. He followed him over the threshold, jumping slightly as the door shut itself behind him.

The sepulchral air of the building was not solely confined to the façade. Inside, the place felt like a tomb. Row upon row of boxes lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and a single, spindly chair provided the sole furnishment. A few candles, dotted here and there, cast a heavy light over the musty surroundings, making almost manifest the strange, eerie shadows that flickered and danced in the dark corners. A tangible hush hung over the dimly lit room like a pall.

Severus shivered.

Then a voice, a horribly familiar voice, like something from a dream - or, indeed, a nightmare - drifted in from one of the back rooms like a malevolent spectre.

"Ahhhh... Dumbledore. Welcome, welcome. I wasn't expecting you until a little later but you are, as you always have been, a busy man."

Severus' mouth had opened with shock. He was shaking his head in disbelief.

_No.. No, it can't be him. It just can't. Not possible..._

Footsteps now. The man was making his way out to the front to greet Dumbledore, who had stepped forward attentively to do the same. Severus' head snapped round towards the door. He had to get out of here. Though what if Dumbledore came after him? He couldn't do anything to hide himself for long without a wand. He looked to Dumbledore. The old man was distracted. They were shaking hands. He could make a run for it and see how far he got. But then, how could he go to Hogwarts without a wand?

"And who have we brought along with us this year?" the voice queried, as its owner rounded the corner and stopped short at the sight of Severus.

_Too late._

A stillness descended, cut with an almost tangible tension - so much so, that when Dumbledore replied, his answer fell upon deaf ears.

"Well, well, well..." Ollivander began with a wry smile, drawing nearer, regarding Severus with a cool eye. "We meet again, boy. Ironic. Yes... Very ironic, indeed..."

"What's ironic?" Severus retorted defiantly, looking and sounding much more composed than he felt.

"Why, that you would come here searching for a wand, what with all the strings I have torn from the hearts of dragons over the long years that are serving as cores for these very wands you see before you," he replied with apparent nonchalance, his white hand skimming over a shelf of dusty boxes as he watched intently for Severus' reaction.

But he didn't give Ollivander the satisfaction. Instead, in that instant, his pride choose to play the trump card. Reaching round for his backpack, he unzipped it, pulled out the glass jar and thrust it out in front of him, his head cocked insolently to one side.

"I don't care about how many _strings_ you've collected, Mr Ollivander," he said. "I don't care about anything. I want you to make me a wand. Right now. And with this," he finished, walking straight up to Ollivander and forcing the jar into his hands.

For a moment, Ollivander gazed at the jar. Extricating a long, thin pair of tweezers from the folds of his robes, he unscrewed the lid and gently pulled out the glittering, silver heartstring. He looked at it from one side, and the other, from above, and below. Then, he started to laugh. It was a low, mirthless sound, and Severus couldn't help but shiver. But now, Ollivander was sizing him up, sweeping over his slight frame with a calculating eye.

"Very well then," he began slowly, tracing his lips with a thin finger. "I think... Yes... I think I have just the wood for you, boy," Ollivander concluded, the consummate professional now rising to the fore. "New consignment of birch-wood from Scandinavia - arrived only this morning... Rather odd wood... Contradictive qualities, you see... Tough, yet flexible and highly durable. Yes... It will suit..." he said quietly, as though he had almost forgotten Severus' existence. "Wait here, boy. It should not take too long. Procuring the cores is the most time-consuming part of the process..."

And then he was gone: spirited away, it seemed, into one of the labyrinthine back-rooms. From behind him, there came a small, polite cough, which almost made Severus jump a foot into the air. Dumbledore was looking at him almost as calculatingly as Ollivander had been only moments ago, although Dumbledore's eyes betrayed a hint of something else - of curiosity, yes, that was unmistakable. Perhaps concern? And… was that _admiration_?

"I must admit, Severus, that out of all the students I have escorted to Mr Ollivander's in order to find a wand, you are the first to have supplied your own core," he said, surveying Severus over his spectacles with a hint of amusement. "And neither a unicorn hair nor a phoenix feather, but one from the very creature least disposed to donating parts of its anatomy to provide a wizard or witch with a means of channelling their magical power. May I ask," he added after a short pause, his bright blue eyes studying Severus intently, "how you managed to acquire your heart-string?"

_Over my dead body..._

"It was a gift," Severus said coldly, defensively, looking away from Dumbledore and choosing instead to stare straight ahead at an interesting wand-box.

It was strange. Normally, he would have been more than happy to advertise his achievements to the entire world, if it were in his power. But this time, for some reason, he did not want to discuss his encounter with the amphiptere with Dumbledore. At all. Ever. The man already knew far too much about his business and Severus was resolved in keeping to himself this most secret of secrets.

_From now on, anything important - really important - I'm going to keep to myself. And that's a promise._

To his relief, Dumbledore didn't press the matter and after about half an hour of waiting in relative silence, Dumbledore conjured up a pack of cards by which means they whiled away the two hours it took for Ollivander to re-materialise sitting on the dusty floor playing poker. At first, Severus had not known how to play, but by the end, even though he had been soundly trounced by Dumbledore, he had come on leaps and bounds, Dumbledore having commented approvingly on his poker face.

"Well, boy," Ollivander said, carefully handing him the finished product, "let's see whether this time it will be a case of the wizard choosing the wand."

Ollivander took a step back into the shadows and folded his arms. Dumbledore, too, was watching him intently. Suddenly, he started to feel a bit sick. What if it went wrong? Dumbledore would lose all respect for him. Ollivander would laugh at him. And worst of all--

_I would have wasted its gift to me..._

No. He was not going to let that happen.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. He decided to try a simple spell he had learned from his mother's books. A brisk flick followed a smooth swish and then...

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

Suddenly, he felt a warm feeling spreading throughout his left arm, felt his wand vibrating ever so slightly as magic coursed through it. Tentatively, he opened his eyes to find a wand box hovering in mid-air in front of him. He grinned.

"Bravo, Severus," Dumbledore's voice said approvingly.

"Yes.." Ollivander mused, stepping back into the light. "Birch-wood and dragon-heartstring. Eleven and three-quarter inches. Tough, yet flexible. Extremely durable. Particularly suited for both healing and hexes. Wand arm: left."

Severus, elated and still stunned, felt a box and a sheet of parchment slapped into his hand.

"That will be seven Galleons," Mr Ollivander said, suddenly business-like, bringing Severus down to earth with a bump.

"What? Oh. Of course," Severus muttered, as he raked about in his backpack for his money pouch.

Fishing out six gold Galleons and making up the rest with Sickles and Knuts, he handed them over to Ollivander who promptly transferred them to his own small, drawstring purse.

Then he felt Dumbledore's hand upon his shoulder, gently but firmly ushering him out the door. For once in his life, he was grateful for being forced to do something. But just as he was about to step out of the door and back into the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley, Ollivander's voice held him back.

"It will be interesting to see what you make of it, boy," Ollivander called out suddenly, fixing Severus with his cold, blue gaze.

Spinning round and regarding the wand merchant insolently, he resisted Dumbledore's firm attempts to guide him out of the shadowy shop. He couldn't let this one pass. "And what do you mean by that?" he retorted.

"Hexes or healing, boy," Ollivander replied, directing Severus another of his mirthless smiles. "You have chosen your wand. So it will be up to you. Will it be used for hexing, or for healing?" he repeated, pulling out his own wand from the folds of his robes and waving it once. "Only time will tell. Good-day, Dumbledore. Boy."

And with that the front door slammed shut in Severus' face with a clatter. Rage boiled up inside him at the insult.

_How dare he?_

His head began to feel very hot and Ollivander's smirking face was at the centre of his slowly reddening field of vision.

_How dare he!_

Before he knew it, he was bawling at the top of his lungs in the middle of Diagon Alley, kicking repeatedly at the door to the shop. People had stopped to look at him, open-mouthed and horrified at the display, but Severus did not care.

"I'm going to go in there and break the bloody door down and curse you so badly you'll be crawling to St. Mungo's on all fours with a shrunken head before you'll even know what's hit you!" he screamed.

"Severus..."

"One day I'm going to get you, Ollivander!"

"Severus!"

"This isn't over! THIS ISN'T OVER!"

"SEVERUS! That is enough!"

Suddenly, he felt himself being grabbed by both shoulders and spun round. Dumbledore had knelt down on the ground and was looking at him with a mixture of disappointment and concern. Instinctively, Severus tried to shrug him off, but the headmaster had the stronger grip. He began to speak, his voice never raised above a whisper, but the firmness in his tone made every syllable abundantly clear.

"Whatever occurred between yourself and Ollivander in the past, this is neither the time nor the place to be airing such grievances. Do you think that by making such an exhibition of yourself, you are somehow hurting Ollivander? No. On the contrary, Severus. You are only hurting yourself..."

As Dumbledore trailed off, Severus finished the headmaster's words for him in his own mind. Half-heartedly, he pushed Dumbledore away and looked down at the ground.

"I've made an arse of myself, haven't I?" he murmured, bitterly.

Dumbledore made a non-committal gesture that, in Severus' eyes, bore all the hallmarks of an affirmative response. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. Then he looked up. They were still there.

"What the hell are you looking at?" he spat.

The little group of people that had gathered to watch him throw his tantrum gradually dissipated, with a few disapproving looks and tuts thrown at him from a safe distance. He looked back at Dumbledore, who had risen and was now dusting down his robes. Now that he was alone with him (well, as alone as he could be in a busy shopping street), he felt rather sheepish and not a little stupid.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, meaning every word.

"Quite alright, Severus," Dumbledore replied airily, as though nothing had happened. "We all have our off-days."

"No, Sir," Severus began, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "It's not that... I mean, well... I don't think I'm just in a foul mood. I'm not normally like this... Not this bad. Ever." There was a pause in which Severus felt his hands clutching at his hair. He didn't know whether to tell Dumbledore or not. He didn't know whether he could tell anyone, for that matter...

"Ahhhh, Severus," Dumbledore began, with a chuckle. "You'll find that as you get older your moods begin to change. You seem to be younger than most, but it comes to us all."

Severus blinked, puzzled. Then...

_You don't mean? Oh for heaven's sake..._

Severus fixed the headmaster with a baleful glare.

"Please don't patronise me, Sir," he replied, as politely as he was able, considering the circumstances. "I'm not talking about... about _that_. Something inside me... It's changed," he said, almost pleading with Dumbledore, pleading with him to understand. "I don't know what because I can't describe it. I always spoke properly before - my mother always told me to - but now words just come to me and - well, my dad noticed it - and I get angry really rather easily - sometimes I don't even know why - it just happens, and. . ."

Now it was his turn to trail off. Dumbledore was listening to him intently with his head tilted slightly to one side. But the words sounded silly. What he was saying was silly. Maybe Dumbledore was right. Maybe it was just... _that_ time.

"Forget it," he said curtly, running a pale hand through his hair. "You're right. I was being stupid."

"Not at all, Severus," Dumbledore replied, his brow furrowed with concern, fixing Severus with his curious, penetrating blue gaze. "Is there something you wish to tell me?"

For a heartbeat, hearing the genuine kindness in the old man's voice, he seriously considered spilling his guts and telling Dumbledore everything. About his dream, about what Ollivander had done to the amphiptere, about how he had woken up in the middle of the night to rescue it, about how he brought it back from the brink of death, about meeting Ollivander, about the gift the amphiptere had given him.

But something held him back.

_Over my dead body..._

"No, Sir," he said firmly, taking a deep breath and composing himself. "There's... there's nothing to tell."

"Very well, Severus," Dumbledore said, smiling at him. "Then let's get you home. You have had a rather eventful day."

* * *

When Severus arrived home, his father had already left for work. Though he had left a note on the door telling him he'd left money on the kitchen worktop so he could order in some food for himself at dinner time and to make sure he packed his stuff and was ready to catch his train to King's Cross tomorrow morning. Round about six o'clock, after Severus had checked and double-checked the contents of his trunk, he phoned the local Indian for a curry (and ordered his father something for when he came in) then went downstairs and curled up on the sofa and read the Mabinogion for a while. After he had his dinner, he put his book down and watched television until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, so he turned all the lights off, went upstairs, changed into his pyjamas and jumped into bed. 

As he was lying there, thinking about Hogwarts and how it felt strange that he wasn't really that nervous about going there and that by all accounts he should be terrified, he heard from downstairs the sound of his father's key turning in the front door, of it opening, then closing behind him. Wide awake, he listened as his father found the food he had ordered him earlier and heated it in the microwave. For a while, there was silence, and then soft thuds as his father climbed the stairs, those footfalls faltering as they stopped outside his room door. In the dark, Severus' eyes opened wide and he rolled over onto his side, with his back to the door, pulling the covers up around his neck. The door opened a crack, and a thin streak of yellow light darted across the floor.

"Severus?" his father said, softly. "Severus, are you awake?"

Severus kept perfectly still and said nothing.

"I... Well... I'm sorry I can't take you to London tomorrow," he began, somewhat awkwardly. "But you know how it is... Ever since... Well, ever since your mother was attacked, it's been hard, I know, but... Well... I mean, I... I just wanted to say goodbye, really, because I won't see you in the morning... and that you've to write and let me know what's going on in that wizard school of yours and your mother's... Alright, boy?"

Severus didn't answer.

"Right then."

The door began to close, the strip of light narrowing, narrowing, almost disappearing.

But then--

"You know I'd never hurt you, son," his father's voice whispered, almost inaudible, from behind the door. "You're all I've got now. Remember that, eh?"

With that, the door closed and the light in the hall was switched off as his father went to bed. Then, Severus sat up in his bed and wiped the tears from his eyes. He hated when his dad made him uncomfortable and confused like that, and when he reminded him of his mother. Severus knew his dad missed her, but he missed her too sometimes. . .

_No. Can't think about that._

He couldn't think about his mother. He wasn't ready for it. The memory of what had happened to her was still too near. Tears threatened in his eyes but he angrily and determinedly held them at bay. He couldn't cry about it. That'd be the worst thing to do. He had to find something to drive himself to distraction, to stop him thinking about things he really shouldn't be thinking about at all.

_Read... Read a book._

Yes. He could read a book. Something easy, something light-hearted to take his mind off things. Now armed with a plan of action, Severus spun round in his bed and stretched an arm out to reach for a book from his bookcase beside his bed, when a flash of blue from the window caught his eye.

His body stopped stiff in mid task, and for a few seconds, he remained motionless. When it didn't happen again, he snatched up a book and opened it at the first page, peering at the print bathed in the silvery half-light of the moon. However, far from gaining solace in reading, now he felt even more uncomfortable. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end and he simply couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.

"You should not read like that, young wizard. You will damage your eye-sight. It is most important for humans, as your sense of smell is so weak. Would you like me to shine brighter for you?"

Severus went rigid. Then, painfully slowly, he turned around...

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Birch-Wood and Dragon-Heartstring, 11¾ Inches

* * *

_AN: _

_A Haiku for my beta, Birgit: _

_My beta, Birgit  
Is a wonderful person.  
She made this fic good. _

_And it's all true, too! I must also take the opportunity to apologise for the ridiculous wait for the third chapter. Life, (more specifically university) has been kicking me in the behind. It's only recently that I've managed to turn round and kick it back - hard. The result of the absolute kicking I gave uni is the time to write this - and I dedicate it to the Quillers and to the non-Quillers - the passers-by in the world of Harry Potter Fanfiction - and hope that you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. _

_-Ada._

And for the FF people, if you would, could you leave a review on your way back out to HP fanfic land? Even if it's just a one-liner to say you liked it. Cheers, guys.

Thanks go out to Iva and muppetmadness for the kind reviews! I'm hoping there are more to come!

* * *

"Young wizard," it repeated, "would you like me to shine brighter for you so you may read your book?"

Severus, instead of answering, screamed something incoherent. Then he tried to run away and got caught in his bed sheets, falling to the bare wood floor on his bum with a thump. Briefly wrestling with his duvet on the floor, he looked like an angry cat in a sack. The tangle of sheets had temporarily blinded him, and he found that not being able to see the thing was much, much worse than knowing exactly where it was. When he felt his head pop out from the top of the pile of quilts, he noticed, with instantaneous, heart-stopping horror, that it had nosed open the window and had pushed its head in.

"Young wizard, are you quite alright?" it asked.

"Aaaaaaaaargh! DON'T COME IN! DON'T COME IN!" Severus yelled in reply, scrabbling backwards across the floor with his feet until he hit a bookshelf. A pile of heavy Tolkien novels came crashing down on his head, and as stars burst in front of his eyes, he felt the impact of The Lord of the Rings most keenly. There was definitely going to be a lump there in the morning.

"Ugh..."

He shook his head blearily and his vision cleared a little. It was still there, its slender, pearly white head poking in through the window. Although he was still very tense, poised almost for flight, it gradually dawned on him that he wasn't about to be devoured or mauled (because if it had wanted to, it would have done it already - there was no doubt about that). So he sat still on the floor, cocooned in his sheets, and stared at it.

"You do not wish me to come in, young wizard?" it questioned, tilting its head to one side. "I cannot come in any further than this. Would it be better if I were smaller?"

For a moment, Severus continued to stare. Then, hesitantly, he answered in a monotone. He said, "Severus. My name is Severus." A pause for thought, before he added, "And, yes. You're too big. You wouldn't fit in here."

"That is not a problem," it said, cheerfully. "I shall make myself smaller for you."

Utterly dumbfounded, Severus watched as one minute, the dragon was there - and the next minute everything seemed to dissipate. Its glowing blue eyes and its vivid mane, its ivory scales and its slender neck, turned to smoke - or was it air? - that drifted through his open window. Curling languidly and making rather pretty patterns, the smoky matter contracted suddenly just above his bed and settled down upon it. Then, against all known laws of nature, a small amphiptere appeared.

It was sitting there on his bed, large as life, apparently quite comfortable and coiled in on itself like a snake. Right now, curled up, it was about the size of a large dog and took up the bottom quarter of Severus' bed. Its silky-haired head rested on its body and the tips of little, white incisors poked out from its upper jaw. Lying there in peace, while it gazed expectantly at him, as though waiting for his approval, it looked quite-- well--

Pushing himself to his feet, Severus tottered back over to his bed - blissfully unaware that with the quilt covering him, he had begun to resemble the bedraggled, old hag who begged in Knockturn Alley. The amphiptere looked up at him and blinked. He looked down at it, and with a small smile, sat beside it and stroked its hair.

"Is it better when I am smaller, Severus?" the amphiptere asked him.

He nodded. "Better for indoors, anyway, I think."

"That is good. I shall remember it next time I come to visit you," it replied, happily.

Suddenly, Severus stopped patting the dragon, his hand hovering thoughtfully in mid-air. "I don't think you can come to see me again," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm going to Hogwarts tomorrow morning. I've got to catch the train from here to King's Cross and then get the Hogwarts Express," he realised, with an unlooked-for pang of disappointment.

"And why should that be a problem?" the amphiptere queried. "I can fly, after all. I should be able to get to the young wizards' school easily."

"Really?" Severus said, now a little more animated. "Can you actually make yourself smaller and come inside, like you just did a few seconds ago?"

"I have never tried, but I suppose I could if someone let me in through a window," it considered.

But Severus' face darkened. "What about wards and things to keep out non-magical creatures?" he asked. "Hogwarts definitely has those. I read about them in _Hogwarts: A History._"

The amphiptere bristled indignantly, the hairs of its mane standing on end. "I am _galdorlicgastberend_," it said proudly, drawing up its head. "I have passed over many schools of wizards across the ages. Those barriers they place to deceive the _ceorlgastberendas_ are nothing to me."

"Oh..." Severus said, looking thoughtful. "That's good to hear."

A few seconds later--

"I think the last strange word you said meant Muggles, but I wasn't sure about the first. What did you say?"

"I am _galdorlicgastberend_," the amphiptere explained, patiently. "It is our word for those with magic in their souls. _Ceorlgastberend_ is a creature without magic. All creatures are _gastberend_."

Enthralled by this revelatory snippet of information, Severus sat forward, his dark eyes glittering with curiosity.

"So does that apply to everything? _Gastberend_, I mean," he asked eagerly. "Wizards and Muggles?"

"Yes. And animals and plants. It applies to all soul-bearers, to all creatures, to all life," the amphiptere replied, while using a bedpost to scratch an itch under its chin. The sound of its scales rubbing against it was rough, like an sculptor planing a plank of wood.

"Then..." Severus began slowly, the wheels turning furiously in his mind as he tried to take in all of this new information, "then dragons... if they have words for things, do they have their own _language_? Do you have your own language like we do?"

Suddenly the amphiptere stopped scratching and snapped its delicate head round to face him, snorting derisively. On instinct, Severus quivered and pulled his sheets up to his chin.

The amphiptere's eyes narrowed as it replied with reproach, "Of _course_ we have our own language. Just because you humans are not willing to recognise it does not mean that it does not exist. You will converse gladly with the creatures of the water, the horse-men and the goblins, and will acknowledge, if not understand, the language of the meanest pixie. And yet you will not allow us this status, even though it is no fault of our own but due solely to your ignorance?"

The sheer effrontery of its last remark saw Severus' fears evaporate - replaced by a smouldering forcefulness that could only have come from a severely wounded ego.

"Ignorance?" he fumed, his eyebrows hitting the roof. "Hah! If you want us to recognise dragons as beings rather than beasts, you should think about it the next time you try to incinerate everyone coming to try and study you!"

"That is not the point," the amphiptere replied, mulishly.

"Not the point, my arse," Severus sneered. "You don't let anyone near you long enough to jot down whether or not there's any difference between the roars you make before your victims meet their agonising, fiery deaths - never mind words!"

"And with good reason!" the amphiptere hissed angrily, its eyes flashing as the air around it became uncomfortably oppressive. "They are all after our hides, our claws, our flesh! They casually butcher us for their own gain; unthinking, unfeeling of the pain we suffer. You, Severus," it said earnestly, "you of all people should know this. You of all people should know why we do not consort with wizards."

As soon as those words left the creature's mouth, Severus felt a strange, cold, empty sensation somewhere in the region of his chest. His mind suddenly elsewhere, he raised a pale hand and pressed it against his ribcage. It felt the same as the night he had first met the amphiptere. He could feel its pain, its anger and its humbled pride. He remembered Ollivander and how he had treated the noble creature, how he would have torn the life from its still beating heart...

"I hate him," Severus whispered bitterly, the quavering fury in his voice unmistakable. "One day, I'm going to make him suffer as much as he made you suffer."

The amphiptere raised its head and regarded him to one side. The pressure from the air suddenly lifted. Then, Severus almost yelped as he felt it nuzzling his ear. The silky hair of its mane tickled slightly.

"Do not worry, Severus," it said, placating him with its calm tone. "It is not your place to. It is my revenge and I shall exact it when I see fit."

Severus opened his mouth to protest but there didn't seem any point in arguing, so he remained silent. After a while of sitting there quietly, unconsciously, he began stroking the amphiptere's hair again. It didn't squirm under his touch, like he expected. In fact, it seemed to like it - and once, when he ran his fingers over the narrow bridge between its eyes, he almost laughed as it made a noise like the purring of a contented cat.

Then, a thought occurred to him.

"You know my name," he said softly, huddled under his sheets with the dragon curled up on his lap. "Do you have one?"

The amphiptere thought for a moment and then answered, "No. I have no name. We do not have names. We simply are."

"Would you like one?" Severus asked. "It would make it easier for me. You see, I don't like thinking of you as just a random dragon."

The amphiptere considered this for a moment. "I have never had a name before," it mused, turning the concept over in its mind, "but I suppose if it is better for you. What name should I have?"

"It'll have to be something that suits you," Severus said firmly. "Something that represents your old-age, your patience, your wisdom and your sheer bloody elusiveness..."

And the proverbial light-bulb flickered on.

"Tell me," he began with a smile, "what concept appeals to you more: Thought or Memory?"

"I think perhaps Memory," it answered after a while.

"Why?"

"You cannot have one without the other; you cannot have Thought without Memory. Each depends on the other. However, Thought has certain connotations. Thoughts are instantaneous, myriad and fleeting - branching off and coming together and are always changed. Memory, on the other hand, is measured, whole and enduring. It may be obscured, stained or repressed, but no matter what changes on the surface, the essence remains the same. Thought is like humans," it said, its eyes smiling, "and Memory is like dragons. Therefore I choose Memory."

Severus smiled. "Then I think I shall call you Muninn," he concluded, with a smile. "One of Odin's ravens was called Muninn - it meant memory. The other one was called Huginn - he had a pair, you see - and its name meant thought."

"Those are very good names," Muninn said. "Could you not choose Huginn as your name, seeing as you are a human and your race are like Thought?"

"I don't think so," he replied. "My parents already called me Severus. I think I'm stuck with it."

"Severus is a good name too," Muninn said. "It sounds nice to say. What does it mean?"

"It's Latin. I think it means serious. Or stern. Or strict. Something like that."

To Severus' puzzlement, Muninn suddenly erupted into fits of laughter. If he hadn't taken such immediate offence, he might have realised that it sounded rather like the hiss of a snake possessed of _basso profundo_ pitch.

"What? What's so funny about that?" he said, frowning so gravely that Muninn laughed even harder.

"If your name reflects who you are, then you certainly suit yours!"

In response, Severus stuck out a foot and kicked the dragon off the bed. For half a second, its eyes widened with shock as its tail fell to the floor - the rest following with a dull thud. His hand over his mouth, Severus had to suppress the giggles and when Muninn's head appeared above the edge of the bed looking rather disgruntled, Severus smirked at it. Huffing, the dragon wound its way back up onto the bed and curled up at the bottom in a bad mood.

"Fine, be like that then," Severus said, unsympathetically. "I need to get to sleep anyway if I'm going to catch the early train down to London tomorrow. You're keeping me awake."

"I could fly there faster," it muttered resentfully, with its head turned away from Severus.

"I'm sure you could," he replied, rolling his eyes, disbelief dripping from every syllable. He started smoothing out his quilt covers so he could lie down. "It'll come in handy if you ever get the notion to come visit me."

Muninn poked its head over a coil and glared at him. "You do not believe me? Then I shall prove it to you. I will take you to your wizards' school tomorrow, and then we will see who is right."

"What?"

The dragon snorted impatiently. "I shall prove it to you," it repeated. "I shall prove I am faster than those... those..." it trailed off, brow furrowed slightly.

"Trains," Severus prompted.

"Yes, those things," it said dismissively before continuing. "I shall prove I am faster than your trains by taking you to your school tomorrow."

"What, you'd fly me there?" Severus whispered, astounded, his eyes wide with excitement.

"How else might I prove myself to you?" the amphiptere replied.

Grinning, Severus turned away for a moment and ran a hand through his hair with a glassy-eyed expression. He felt so excited at the offer that he felt he'd burst. Going on the Hogwarts Express had very much appealed to him before, but now the prospect paled in comparison to the amphiptere's proposal. Though... flying into Hogwarts on the back of a great, hulking dragon? He wasn't too sure of the school rules, but he was pretty certain that such an enterprise would be heavily frowned upon.

But he had a better idea…

"I don't think you can take me all the way to Hogwarts," he began hesitantly, still turning his plan over in his mind, "but you could take me to King's Cross, and - only if you wanted that is - you could make yourself small again and come with me on the train and pretend to be my pet..."

He didn't know what made him say it, and he was ready to be resoundly rejected. After all, it was a magical being, an ancient, wise and noble creature - why would it want to become the pet of an eleven year old wizard? That was why he was so surprised at the dragon's answer.

"Yes," it replied, after hardly a moment's thought. "I should like that very much. We shall fly to this-- _King's Cross_-- tomorrow. Then I shall prove myself to you, after which you will apologise for having insulted my race..."

"I did not insult your race! I only said you couldn't go faster than a bloody train!" Severus cried out indignantly - an interruption that was smoothly passed over by the amphiptere.

"...then I shall go with you on your train," it continued, "and will continue to watch over you at your wizards' school as I have sworn to do." It paused for a moment and then nodded. "Yes," it said, seeming satisfied with the plan, "it will be done."

"Hey, wait a minute," Severus protested as he felt Muninn drawing up the sheets around him and nudging his head down onto the pillow. "I didn't say yes, did I?"

"It does not matter," it said repressively as it curled up at his feet. "I must prove you wrong. You must learn, Severus, that you cannot wound a dragon's pride without facing the consequences. Now go to sleep. I shall wake you at dawn."

Muttering mutinously, Severus rolled over onto his side. As he lay there, listening to Muninn's breathing becoming gradually deeper and more regular, it was not long before he realised how tired he was. Just before he closed his eyes, he gave the sleeping dragon a soft nudge with his foot.

"You'd better be right," he murmured, yawning. "If I miss this train, you're going to be potions ingredients..."

And then he fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning, at the crack of dawn, as the sun peeked in through his bedroom window and crept across the floor, Severus was rather rudely awoken. At the moment, he was yelling and cursing and hopping around the room, clutching at one foot. 

"DID YOU HAVE TO BITE MY BLOODY TOE?" he bawled, glaring furiously at the offending toe-biter in question, which had perched itself on top of his wardrobe, out of reach.

"You would not get up," Muninn said simply, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. "And I did not bite hard. It was... a gentle nip."

"Gentle nip? _Gentle nip?_" Severus howled, as he sat down on the bed and cradled his injured digit. "You drew blood!"

The dragon rolled its eyes and fluttered down onto the bed. It observed the toe critically. "It is only bleeding a little. You are acting like a fledgling."

"Oh shut up," Severus huffed, as he limped over to his wardrobe and began raking around for some clean clothes.

"Your father came in and left something for you," Muninn continued, as Severus was bent in amongst the hangers.

Instantly, Severus stiffened.

"Do not worry," Muninn continued. "I heard him coming and I hid. He left you this--"

Severus felt something papery and slightly damp pressed into his hand. He looked down at it. It was a note. Muninn had obviously gotten a hold of it, as there were small puncture holes dotted about the paper where it had picked the letter up with its mouth. He took out a pair of black robes and stuffed the note in his pocket. He would read it later.

"Right, I'm going for a shower," he announced. "I'll have to take my trunk with me. It's under my bed," he said, pointing. "I hope you're not going to back out?"

"Not a chance," Muninn retorted. "We will just have to find some way of making it secure. And make sure what you wear is warm, and that you will be able to breathe," it warned. "The air is very cold and thin up there. I shall be waiting for you in the forest."

When Severus was washed and dressed, he grabbed a hold of his wand, shoved on a pair of shoes and went downstairs. Before he left, he wrote his father a short note saying that he wasn't to worry, that he would write every week and that he had to promise to visit his mum in St. Mungos and tell her he was finally off to Hogwarts. Then, after a last look round at his home, he stepped out of the door and locked it behind him. If there was an air of finality that accompanied the muted click of the lock, it was lost on young Severus. Then, in the pleasantly warm rosy light of dawn, he walked down to the forest to meet Muninn.

He eventually found the dragon, full-sized once more, splashing around in the little river that ran through the forest - and it looked as though it was enjoying itself. Then he spotted his trunk lying at the roots of a tree at the riverbank. For a moment, he hid behind the tree and stole a short moment of pleasure in watching it making a fool of itself as it played a little game, tossing water up in the air and trying to catch it with its teeth. Eventually, though, he knew he was pressed for time, so he stepped out from behind the tree and coughed politely. Soaking wet, Muninn looked up him, strands of vivid blue hair sticking to its scales.

"Greetings, Severus," it said happily. "You said you were going away to wash yourself - well now I am washed too."

"That's brilliant," Severus said, uninterested, looking at his watch, "but can we go soon? I know you feel you have to prove your point to me and all, but time is moving on."

Muninn nodded and rose up out of the water. Curling in on itself in mid-air, hovering over the water, it started to shake itself dry like a dog from head to tail, thoroughly drenching the young wizard in the process. When it was finished, it landed beside Severus, who looked as though he had just been caught in a downpour. His expression was similarly stormy. Balefully, he looked up at the amphiptere and shook his head.

"You are an _idiot_," he said.

"Am I?" Muninn replied casually. "I am not the one who will be unable to breathe while up in the air."

"I've got that covered," Severus said, pulling out his wand from his thick, black jacket. "There's a special charm that you can use to help you breathe underwater. It should work just as well for high up in the air."

He pointed his wand at his face and attempted the Bubble-Head charm. It was quite complicated, and it didn't work the first couple of times he tried it. But on the third attempt, he felt something clinging to his nose and mouth. He walked over to the river and looked at his reflection. There was a shimmering, opaque bubble stretching over his mouth and nose. The charm may not have worked properly, but at least he wouldn't look like an absolute prat and it seemed to have the same effect as the full, bubble works.

"Done," he said, his voice strangely muffled, turning round to Muninn and pointing at his face. "But what am I going to do about my trunk? How did you get it down here?"

"I used the ether to drag it behind me," Muninn replied. "But I can carry it in my mouth."

Severus' eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me, but did you see what you did to that note my dad left me? It was full of holes and covered in drool. I don't want you doing that to my trunk."

Muninn sighed. "I assure you that there will not be a scratch on it."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise," it said. "Now please - _get on_."

Severus stared at the dragon blankly. "Get on? How? Where can I sit? You have _far_ too much hair."

"Sit just in front of my wing joints and make sure you are holding on tightly."

"Oh. Right..."

Tentatively, for he was now starting to feel a bit nervous, he climbed up onto the dragon's back and tucked his legs behind the wing joints. He grabbed two fistfuls of Muninn's hair and clung onto it very, very tightly. Gently, Muninn picked up his trunk in its mouth.

"Are you ready?" it said.

Severus fell silent for a moment. He wasn't sure.

"W-what if I fall off?" he asked.

"Then I shall catch you," Muninn replied simply. "Do you still wish to proceed?"

"I don't recall ever having 'wished' to do this in the first place, but it's too late now, isn't it?" he retorted, with a little more vigour.

"Then are you holding on tightly?"

"Yes."

"Lean forward because we are going to climb."

Severus didn't quite know what it meant by 'climb' but to be safe, he practically pressed himself flat out against Muninn's serpentine body.

"Are you ready?"

"Just get it over with," Severus mumbled, screwing his eyes shut.

"As you wish..."

Suddenly, Severus' stomach lurched as he felt muscles contracting beneath him.

_Oh dear god. Please let me live through this..._

And then the dragon shot from the earth like a powerful, tightly coiled spring and began its thundering ascent into the air.

Severus knew he was screaming, though he could hear nothing but the roaring of wind rushing past his ears. Branches of trees had briefly whipped at his face, but he had long since left them behind. Below him, individual houses were swallowed up by villages, which were in turn swallowed up by towns, then cities, before a colourful patchwork of hedgerows and yellow, green and brown fields came into view.

All this was lost on Severus, who was more concerned with the rather strange thing that was happening to him. As the dragon climbed (and he now understood the meaning only too clearly: they were flying at almost a ninety-degree angle) to his horror, he and Muninn began to turn into smoke.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" Severus screamed hoarsely, face down into the dragon's back and eyes shut, as his hair writhed about his head like Medusa's.

"We are becoming _aeðm_ so we will not be seen," Muninn answered, its thoughts calmly and effortlessly entering his mind. "How did you think we amphipteres won our reputation for elusiveness?"

"I REALLY, REALLY DON'T GIVE A TOSS!" he yelled frantically, beginning to lose control of his grip on sanity as he felt everything suddenly becoming a little too transparent. "I DON'T WANT TO DISAPPEAR!"

"Do not worry, Severus," it said reassuringly, attempting to bring him to his ease. "Even though you cannot be seen, you are still very much whole and intact. But please hold on," it added, "we are approaching the _lyftedor_. When we are above it, I shall make myself whole, that is _licham_, and you will become so also."

"WHAT? I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU JUST SAID TO ME--" Severus began to rant, before he was cut off abruptly as they hit the _lyftedor_.

It turned out that the _lyftedor_ meant the thick layer of flocculent clouds nearest the surface of the earth. For a moment, Severus truly panicked as his vision was obscured by dense, chilly vapour. But then, seconds later, they punched through it, and to his relief, he felt everything slow down and come back into focus. More importantly, he felt himself come back into focus - and Muninn, too. He could see its hair again, and underneath, a tantalising glimmer of shimmering-white scales. Muninn had stopped, it seemed, in mid-air, to allow Severus time to compose himself. Tentatively, he opened his eyes. He could see the end of Muninn's tail swirling around before him. It curled in so closely at one point, that he fancied that, if he wanted to, he could reach out and grab hold of it.

It was then that he summoned the courage sit up and look for the first time. And the sight before him took his breath away.

Stretching out before him - above him, beneath him, all around him - was a palette of infinite colour and indescribable loveliness. When he looked down, the downy stratum of clouds looked like a great fleecy quilt of glittering gold streaked with warm peaches and gentle pinks. Behind him, further away from the light, the colours faded into creamy beige and then soft greens and greys. Above, stars still shone in the firmament: punctuating the deep blue, the faint, scarlet bands of cloud, and blossoming patches of violet with vivid, faceted, shimmers of white light. But the most arresting, the most beautiful object by far, was the gently burning, fiery orb that gave light and life and made possible the creation of all the myriad shades and colours his astonished eyes had taken in. It was utterly dazzling, burning with a sublime and thoughtless fierceness, casting out brilliant rays of smouldering oranges and yellows. Below him, Muninn's hair, the deep-blue colour of the fading night sky, fluttered in the breeze. His scales, once like pearls, had now caught the light and shone, opalescent - and Severus' pallid face, too, was illuminated by that same warm light, glowing with pure and unadulterated astonishment and awe. He had seen the sun rise before, but never like this.

"Do you like it?" he heard Muninn ask quietly, after a while.

He nodded. He couldn't bring himself to speak.

"It is beautiful," Muninn said. "And you will never tire of it - even I never tire of it - for no sun rise is ever the same." A moment's pause and then, "But we will move on now, so hold onto my mane..."

"Don't go too fast," Severus whispered, still gazing, transfixed, at his surroundings.

Muninn smiled and moved off, slowly at first and then gaining speed. Severus leaned forward a little, but not so much as to obscure his vision. As they flew south, Severus realised that Muninn had been right: no sunrise was ever the same, and no one sunrise remained the same - not even for a second. The colours kept changing, morphing, melting imperceptibly into one another like a mandala. It was utterly fascinating and Severus found himself occasionally having to remember that he was god knows how high up in the air, and that he had to hold tight or fall off, burn up in re-entry and become a great, circular, steaming stain on some old granny's back garden. So he was almost disappointed when they began their descent.

Muninn warned him again about going through the thick clouds (or the _lyftedor_ as he now found himself calling it) but it didn't need to. This time, he saw it coming, and although it was still a little strange (it was colder and wetter, for one thing) he didn't mind it quite as much and he supposed he'd eventually get used to it. He still wasn't sure about turning smoky, though. The feeling of dissipating, yet, oddly, remaining whole and intact while not being able to see your hands in front of your face would take a bit more getting used to. It was as bad as Apparating...

Then the image of Albus Dumbledore rose, unbidden, to the forefront of his mind. He would be seeing him again very soon, and felt rather excited at the prospect of meeting all his teachers for the first time. More importantly, he would find out what house he'd be Sorted into. Not being a pureblood, he knew that Slytherin was out and he was pretty certain that he wasn't destined for Hufflepuff either. It'd have to be either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, although he was crossing his fingers for Ravenclaw because his mum's friend (who she always used to talk about when she took him out shopping with her) had been Sorted there - what was his name, again? - and from what he had heard from her, Ravenclaw sounded as if it would suit him down to the ground.

Speaking of the ground, Severus noted with sudden alarm that they were just about to touch down upon it. In anticipation, he renewed the force of his grip on Muninn's mane and cringed. It was now apparent that they were directly over London. Their own special bird's eye view took in the rather overcast and smoggy vista of a great city. The millions were stirring. Buses and taxis scurried along the intricate, intravenous network of roads, transporting the first wave of morning-rush travellers to work - and they were getting closer and closer. They were no longer flying at an angle. Muninn had levelled out his position, now almost parallel to the ground, and appeared to be gliding gently to earth along a rather busy thoroughfare, which Severus recognised with a thrill as Pentonville Road. They were almost there. The Muggles on foot yelled angrily as they felt a great gust of wind forcing them to the pavement and whipping away their umbrellas. Muninn passed particularly closely over a disgruntled-looking man in a black suit and hat - almost skimming his head - and Severus, in a moment of madness shot out his hand and gleefully snatched the hat from the top of the commuter's head and flipped it onto his own, grinning from ear to ear. The entrance to King's Cross station was just ahead - Severus could see it - but it didn't look like Muninn was going to stop outside.

"What are you doing?" Severus asked, leaning forward and hissing into its ear.

"I am going to take you to your train," it replied. "Please stay like that, as flat as you can."

Just as they were about to hit the entrance, Muninn slowed right down and passed through the automatic doors behind another suited man with a briefcase. Sailing through the station, the amphiptere whipped up skirts, spilled coffees and sent newspapers flying.

"It's platform nine and three-quarters," Severus informed Muninn in hushed tones. "Between nine and ten."

He felt Muninn nod and take a sharp left. Moments later, he felt the odd feeling of coming back into focus. Then his feet hit the ground running and he tripped over his trunk, which had fallen to the floor in front of him with a dull thud. Grimacing, rubbing his grazed elbows, he looked round with intent on giving Muninn a mouthful. But the dragon wasn't there. Bemused, Severus craned his neck and looked behind him. Nothing.

"Munnin?" he called, tentatively. "Muninn?"

Suddenly, he felt a light weight settling upon his right shoulder. A thin, white tail brushed to-and-fro across the small of his back and he looked round to find a pair of brilliant, blue eyes staring back at him playfully. He raised an eyebrow.

"How small can you make yourself?" he asked, with a shade of incredulity.

Muninn flickered its tongue at him by way of response.

"Fine then," he said, rolling his eyes and picking himself up off the floor, reaching for his trunk. "As long as you don't look too out of place."

Severus grabbed the handle of his trunk. "I suppose we'd better get along to nine-and-three-quarters, then," he said thoughtfully. "And thanks for the lift. You were faster than the train. Not by much, but you were faster."

As he trudged off to the barrier with Muninn curled around his shoulders, the dragon didn't say anything, but Severus knew it was feeling smug. He gave it a poke with his finger just to make sure it didn't get too cocky and passed through the barrier.

* * *

_AN: _

_A terrible haiku to mark the end of chapter three: _

_The chapter is done.   
Severus now has Muninn.   
Hope you all liked it. _

_Oh yeah, in case you were wondering, the dragon language - I didn't make it up. I study Old English as part of my course at university, so I decided to make use of it for a change. Basically, I've practised the age-old Old English method of creating compounds - if you need a new word, make one out of two old words - and then adding an inflexional ending where appropriate. It works quite well, I think. Dragons suit Old English. _

_Again, could you leave a review? Thanks very much, guys.   
_


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Birch-Wood and Dragon-Heartstring, 11¾ Inches

* * *

Once again, thanks go out to Birgit of the Sugar Quill for betaing this fic. She managed to save poor Severus from sprouting an extra arm or two, so you should be grateful to her. :P Alert readers going back over preceeding chapters may have noticed a rather significant change. Sweet will now teach Practical Defence, as opposed to DADA. This is mainly down to my desire NOT to bend canon for my own designs (and as a SQ beta, I must set an example :P) but it also works out very well indeed with what I have planned for Sweet and Snape - better, in fact, than what I originally invisioned. Thank Birgit for that. 

Thanks also go out to a number of people from the Quill: to Dr Fidelius, Grace has Victory, CornedBee, Dweo, Archangel, and Wonky Faint for helping me out regarding the German Dark Arts Journal; to Grace has Victory and Reesie for timeline help; and to all the good denizens of the Snape Thread for providing me with inspiration and intellectual stimulation.

_For the FF . net people, thanks for your support. It means a lot - especially during the earlier chapters of the story. Special mentions go out to muppetmadness, Claire, Liz and Hwyla for their kind reviews, and, of course, to the lovely Iva! I hope chapter four will live up to your expectations!_

* * *

When Severus appeared on platform nine and three-quarters with Muninn the place was largely deserted. At the far end, a group of porters were sitting together on a stack of boxes, sharing a large flask of tea and chatting merrily to the train driver, who had abandoned his post in hope of finding an antidote to boredom and, if he was lucky, a hot beverage. The train was there too: the great, shining, scarlet Hogwarts Express - thick, noxious clouds of smoke billowing from its funnel. Apart from that, it was just Severus and Muninn. 

"I suppose it'll be easy enough to find a compartment," Severus said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Do you mind going inside?"

"Not at all," Muninn replied casually. "I might even discover a more comfortable place to perch than these two sharp protrusions of bone you call shoulders."

"Well that can be remedied," Severus retorted with a twisted smile. The dragon's eyes widened as Severus grabbed it by the mane and sat it down roughly on top of his trunk. It glared balefully at him, flickering its tongue in protest. Severus took no notice. As he approached the doors of the carriage nearest to him, his trunk trundling along behind him, he had his ticket ready to show to the inspector. But no one was there. He looked up and down the platform, then he turned round and looked at Muninn, who blinked at him and said, "Does it really matter? You have your permission to enter, do you not?"

Irritated by the dragon's oh-so-logical logic, Severus shook his head and stepped through the open door of the carriage, dragging his trunk behind him and making sure he gave it a good bump as he did so. Inside, streaks of sunlight filtered in through the windows, making the walls of polished mahogany and brass shine proudly. There were two long rows of compartments separated straight down the middle by a stripe of green, velvet carpet that muffled his footsteps as he walked down the aisle.

Taking in his new surroundings with a small smile, he chose an empty compartment about halfway up and settled down in it with Muninn. He pulled out a book with the intention of reading it, but found it much more interesting to watch Muninn flitting around the compartment, sniffing in every corner, peering round the door. After a while, it seemed to catch some sort of scent and it stayed perfectly still. Then it nosed open the compartment window and poked its narrow head out of it.

"Severus," it said, sounding strangely excited, "there are other humans coming!"

Placing the book face-down in his lap, Severus humoured Muninn by letting it sit in his lap to watch the other students filtering onto the platform and into the train. Every now and then, Muninn would pass comment on a particular student or on a member of their family: "Severus, look at that young human. It does not want to be parted from its mother. See how it keens and clings to her? And that one over there next to the large, female human. It is lost. It seems to be looking for someone. Can you see?"

Severus scanned his eyes along the now bustling platform until saw what had caught Muninn's attention. He smirked and said, "He'll have a hard time trying to see anything with her parked in front of him."

To Severus' surprise and delight, this comment made Muninn burst out laughing. "Yes, I can see what you mean, Severus. She is very large for a human."

It went on this way for another fifteen minutes or so, and Severus, fed up with people-watching, decided to leave Muninn to his own devices in tracking the movements of the messy-haired boy with the spectacles and his two friends. Picking up his book, he curled up on his seat and absorbed himself in it. The book, simply titled Advanced Dark Arts Theory, had once belonged to his mother and it was the one out of all the books she had left him that had really sparked an interest. Finally having the time, the desire and a pressing reason to read it, he eagerly flipped to the front page. It was there that something else altogether more intriguing than the subject matter caught his eye.

There was a dedication. Written in a fine, strong hand with emerald ink, it read:

"Eileen,

I present to you my latest effort and the end result of the free-reign Viridian afforded me at the Institute as regards my research.. You should know that your continued support and encouragement has been invaluable to me, as well as your unparalleled insight into the subject itself. Thus, to you, Eileen Prince, I have dedicated my first monograph. I sincerely, truly, hope it meets your approval.

Icarus."

Severus stared, dumbfounded, at the page before him. It appeared that the author had known his mother. Suddenly, his curiosity aflame, he found himself very much wanting to know about the author of this book. He turned the pages impatiently and scrupulously scanned their contents for any hint of information.

_Edition? Obviously not, it's a first. Publishing details? Nothing. Title page? Nothing..._

And then he found it. His nose almost touching the book, with a growing sense of revelation, he read the short biography of the author, by a man apparently named Filius Flitwick. He read, and was utterly fascinated.

"Icarus Sweet completed his magical training at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1956 with special mention in Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Specialising in Dark Arts theory and the creation of curses and counter-curses, in 1961, he became the youngest ever appointed Professor of Dark Arts at Durmstrang Institute at the age of twenty-two at the behest of Headmaster Vindictus Viridian. He has since written many articles for such periodicals as the _Dark Arts Review_, the _Heidelberger Journal zur Erforschung der Dunklen Künste,_, and the _Defence Against the Dark Arts Quarterly_. In January of this year, that is 1967, Sweet returned to his alma mater and was appointed to the position of the recently resurrected position of Professor of Practical Defence by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. He there published his first monograph, _Advanced Dark Arts Theory_. Professor Sweet presently continues his studies in the theory of the Dark Arts."

Professor Sweet - of course! Severus cursed himself inwardly for having forgotten. Dumbledore himself had mentioned him just before they had Apparated to Diagon Alley and had said that he was talented. Looking at his considerable achievements, Severus realised that that may have been a bit of an understatement - the man seemed like a bloody genius! And, apparently, he knew his mum...

Then, something else occurred to him. Ravenclaw. Icarus Sweet was a Ravenclaw. He had went to school with his mum - he was the friend she always used to talk about when she had taken him shopping with her in Diagon Alley.

Now, Severus was determined to read the book and understand it if killed him. He skipped forward to the first section, which was on non-verbal spells, and began to read the first chapter, entitled: "The fundamental role of the force of the mind in the successful casting of non-verbal spells". The prose was lucid and readable, but the concepts were achingly abstract and theoretical, and, clever as he was, Severus found it rather hard work. As he found himself increasingly having to read and re-read sentences time and again, he suddenly realised that he was quite tired. He glanced up at Muninn. The dragon was still staring out of the window, its delicate white head darting to and fro in all directions. Severus shook his head and laughed softly. Then, he leaned his head against the window and, unable to resist any longer, he closed his eyes.

"Look, Remus! It liiiiiiiiiiiiiiives..."

Severus had woken up a few hours later, tousled and rubbing his eyes, to find two faces staring at him intently. One belonged to a reserved-looking boy with mousy brown hair and the other to a girl with vibrant red hair and clear, laughing, green eyes.

Once the girl had got the "Dracula" jokes out of her system (at which Severus had raised an eyebrow, unsmiling) she proceeded to introduce herself and the other boy. The girl, it transpired, was called Lily Evans and the boy, Remus Lupin. They were both first-years.

Severus listened, half-interested, as Lily gushed about receiving her Hogwarts letter, about how she hadn't known anything about magic or about the wizarding world at all - let alone a school for witches and wizards! - and about how her sister Petunia was being an utter pig about it all. He didn't say anything, but he privately agreed with Lily about Petunia Evans. Burying all Lily's underpants out in the back garden and pretending the dog did it - out of sheer jealousy - was a rather pathetic thing to do.

Comparatively, the boy Lupin was silent. He seemed content to sit and listen to the Evans girl. Or was it that? His lips were pressed tightly together and he looked rather pale. Surely Lily's Petunia horror stories weren't all that ghastly. At least he didn't think so. Severus studied his expression a little more closely while keeping an ear out in case he had to nod in agreement with Lily. Remus Lupin's eyes were fixed upon the luggage rack above Severus' head. Puzzled, he looked up. Then it all became crystal clear.

"Don't worry," he said idly, cutting Lily Evans off in the middle of a flow. "It's my pet. It won't harm you."

Muninn was curled up on top of his trunk, its mane bristling, staring fiercely at Lupin.

"Are you sure?" Remus asked warily, his eyes still fixed upon the dragon. "When I came in to find a seat earlier it tried to bite me."

Severus shot Muninn an inquiring look. Muninn flickered its tongue at him in response. For Severus, and Severus alone, it said resentfully: "The boy stole my seat."

Severus bit back a smirk and repeated for Remus' benefit, "I think it might have been a bit upset because you stole its seat."

"Oh! I'm sorry, dragon," Remus said, with a small smile. There was a brief pause, before Remus asked rather frankly, "I say "dragon" but what exactly is it?"

"It is a dragon... of sorts," Severus said slowly, telling a half-truth so as to avoid any more probing questions. "And its name is Muninn."

As if on cue, Muninn came fluttering down from its perch and landed soundlessly in Severus' lap.

"Wow..." Lily breathed, her eyes wide with astonishment. She leaned forward in her seat, her arm outstretched before she appeared to remember herself. "Can I?" she asked, directing Severus an enthusiastic smile.

Severus shrugged by way of saying yes, and watched with a quiet amusement as Lily stroked Muninn's soft, blue hair. Remus' mind seemed to be put at ease as he watched the dragon responding positively to the red-headed girl, and it was not long before he, too, began to pat it tentatively on the head.

For the next half an hour or so, Muninn was the centre of attention. Remus had grown to like the dragon so much that he was currently sat on the floor, tossing bits of his sandwiches up in the air so that Muninn could catch them. Lily, however, had noticed his book and was sitting next to Severus, marvelling at the dedication he had found penned in the inside leaf.

"So do you think he knows your mum?" Lily asked curiously.

"I'd say so," Severus replied. "My mum mentioned him sometimes. He must have gone to Hogwarts with her. I think they were friends."

"That's handy," she replied, directing him a mischievous look. "You'll be able to go to him and ask him things. And then tell me!"

"Ha! I don't think so, Evans," Severus retorted. "If I find out anything, I'm going to keep it to myself. I might even start charging."

"Ooooh! You sneaky git!"

"Sneaky git, nothing. It's just making an honest profit."

Lily snorted derisively. "Hah, as if. Well, I want a cut of your earnings, Snape - otherwise I'll be telling everyone about how you're making your honest profit!"

The two exchanged banter for awhile, each attempting to outdo the other in skirmishes of wit, before the trolley lady came. When the round-faced, good natured lady asked whether they wanted to buy anything, Severus reached into his robes and pulled out his money pouch. He purchased a Sugar Quill and a Pumpkin Pastie, depositing his change inside it with a faint clink. When he slipped his pouch back into his robes, he heard something crinkle. His eyes widened as his hand closed tightly around a folded sheet of paper. His stomach lurched guiltily. He'd completely forgotten.

"Excuse me," he said, standing up abruptly, cutting Lily off again. "I'll be back in a minute. I need to..."

Lily was looking at him curiously. "Are you okay, Severus?"

"I'm fine. I'll be back in a minute," Severus said again, with a little more force, before stepping outside the compartment and shutting the door behind him with a definite click.

Up ahead, there was a little alcove for storing extra luggage. Severus spied it immediately and settled himself down in-between two trunks, pulling out the letter from his father. No one would see him tucked away in there. A perfect place for a little moment of privacy.

"Severus,

Again, I'm sorry I couldn't take you to Kings Cross but you know how it is. I'm going to visit your mother after work, though, and I'll tell her that you've finally gone off to that wizard's school of hers, just like she always wanted. She'll be so proud of you, son, I can tell you that for nothing.

I know that Dumbledore bloke will take care of you, but just be careful who you associate with at that school. Remember what happened to your mother. You're all I've got now, son.

Make sure you write. Send one of those owls, I know how it works. They're more reliable than the bloody Post Office, anyway.

Take care of yourself.

- Dad.

After Severus carefully folded the letter and put it away, he sniffed and blinked back a small tear that had almost strayed, unnoticed, down his cheek. He was thankful that he'd got out of the compartment when he did. As much as he hated to admit it, he felt that he would rather miss his dad. He wondered what the old man would do without him. Probably take on extra shifts and go to visit his mum more, he reasoned. But even so...

His train of thought shuddered suddenly and abruptly to a halt. He could hear footsteps advancing up the aisle at speed.

Instinctively, he shrunk back into his hiding place, really not feeling like discussing the contents of his letter with any nosy interlopers that happened to be passing. But then the students - he could only assume they were students - halted right outside the compartment across from his alcove. He stiffened and stayed perfectly still. Then he heard a girl's voice authoritatively hissing instructions to others. Severus strained to hear to what she was saying.

"Shut up, Rabastan. They'll hear you."

There was a brief moment of silence. The group appeared to be listening out for something. Then the girl continued.

"Hah! _Colloportus_," she said derisively. "Well that won't stop us. We'll just have to alter our plan a little. On the count of three, Cissy will open the door. Once it's open, we all hex together. Is that clear?"

There was a general murmur of agreement.

"Good," the girl said. "Cissy, are you ready?"

There was another murmur of agreement, this time coming from one particular person. It sounded like another girl.

"In three... two... one..."

Severus heard the compartment door burst open. There was a blinding flash of red light, followed by an almighty bang and several startled shrieks. Peering out from behind the trunks, he could see the shadows of several pairs of feet darting back and forth. Then, someone was shouting at people to get down. There was another bang and a flash of blue light. The other side appeared to be fighting back.

To Severus' mounting horror, the scuffle was emerging into a full-blown duel - and he was caught right in the middle of it.

He had to get out. He had to make a run for it. His carriage was only a few doors down. If he could just push his way out with his wand out and his head down, he could—

But his thoughts were again cut short. A heavy body slammed into the trunk he was hidden behind, and the trunk hit his head with a sickening crunch. Then it toppled on top of him, and so did the body, crushing and knocking all the wind out of him. Stars burst in front of his eyes and he could taste blood on his lips. He tried desperately to crawl out, but he was trapped on all sides against the wall, the trunk and the floor.

Then there was another bang. A compartment door further down the train opened and he heard a familiar voice ringing out through the chaos.

"No, Evans... For god's sake, don't... Don't be so stupid..." he tried to call out, but he hadn't the strength to raise his voice to more than a weak whisper.

"What's going on here?" she gasped audibly, clearly shocked at something. He heard her footsteps hurrying toward said something. "Are you okay? You're bleeding—"

"Get out of the way, girl!" a male voice snarled.

"If you touch her, you'll have to answer to me," another familiar voice said, though there was a coldness about it that almost rendered its tone unrecognisable.

It was Remus Lupin.

Idiots, he thought angrily, the stabbing pain in his ribs not helping matters. What did they think they were going to achieve? Remus could maybe put up a bit of a fight, if he knew any hexes, but from what he'd seen from this lot, there was no way he'd last five seconds. And Lily, she was Muggle-born...

He had to help them. Summoning all the meagre reserves of strength he had left, he pushed with all his might and felt the weight of the trunk slide off him. It hit the floor with a ponderous thud. Staggering upright, he emerged from the alcove breathing harshly, clutching his wand in one hand and his ribs with the other. His black hair was wild and tangled and a small trickle of blood seeped from a cut on his forehead.

For the first time, he could see the full extent of the chaos.

Frightened faces peered from cracked windows of other compartments, looking out at the duelling factions with evident apprehension. Lily Evans was kneeling on the floor next to a boy with messy hair and glasses, who looked in a bad way. He was most likely the one who'd fallen into the trunk. Standing behind them, wand out and grey eyes ablaze with anger, was a good-looking boy with dark hair, and next to him, a smaller boy with blonde hair, who looked absolutely terrified but defiant next to his friend. There were two older girls: a tall and slender Slytherin with glossy brown hair, the other girl a round-faced Gryffindor, and two older boys: both Gryffindor, one with spiky blue hair, and the other athletically built with a square-jaw and a proud bearing.

On the other side, was a group of older students - all from Slytherin house. At the front stood a tall girl with glossy black hair and a malevolent sneer playing around the corners of her thin mouth. Severus knew instinctively that it was the girl who'd been giving orders. Beside her stood a pretty girl with ash-blonde hair - most likely the one called Cissy - and a boy with similarly coloured hair that had been elegantly scraped back into a ponytail. There were two other boys who could only be brothers: each with the same heavy-set build and dark, wavy hair.

Each student was pointing their wand at another, but as Severus rose shakily to his feet, all eyes turned towards him. He raised his wand, his black eyes darting from one duelling student to another, uncertain of how he was going to get out of this one in one piece.

"Severus!" Lily breathed, her eyes wide with shock. "How did you get here? I thought you were going to the bathroom—"

"I'm fine," he muttered, cutting her off, as he saw the corners of the Slytherin girl's mouth curl maliciously. She took a step closer, and everyone, including Severus, raised their wands. But she took no notice, as the other Slytherin students, in turn, raised theirs.

"What's this?" she cooed softly. "An invasion of the little babies?"

The Slytherin students sniggered appreciatively.

"Get out of it, Bellatrix," spat the good-looking boy with the grey eyes.

"Hush, hush, my ickle Sirius. He has a foul temper, yes he does. He needs his beddie byes," the girl, Bellatrix, retorted in a sing-song voice, eliciting another round of laugher from the Slytherins. She took a step closer to Lily and bent over slightly, smiling at her mockingly. Lily stared back boldly. "So," Bellatrix continued, "what might little baby's name be?"

_No. That's dangerous. Don't answer, Evans, they're from Slytherin. If they find out you're Muggle-born, they'll tear you apart, he thought frantically._

"What's it to you, Bella?" the slender, brunette girl said threateningly.

"Just a passing curiosity, Andromeda," Bellatrix answered, with a nonchalant wave of her hand.

"Like hell it is," the girl, Andromeda, retorted acidly.

Bellatrix ignored her, and turned her attention again to Lily. "Take no notice of her, little girl," she said. "What might your name be?"

"My name's Lily Evans - and I'm not a little girl," she answered defiantly, her green eyes ablaze with anger.

Bellatrix's eyes flashed and suddenly there was a searing crackle. Lily was slumped over the messy haired boy, clutching at her face and crying. Sirius and the other younger, fair-haired boy rushed to help her - and Remus Lupin was at her side in a trice.

"As I suspected! A filthy, disgusting Mudblood! How dare you speak to me like that!" Bellatrix spat venomously, her wand in the air ready to curse Lily Evans a second time.

"That's it, Bellatrix, you've gone too far," roared the square-jawed Gryffindor, as he rolled up his sleeves, ready to hex her.

But everyone was surprised when the first spell did not come from his direction, but from the scraggly, black-haired boy who had got trapped under the trunks.

"_Concidero!_"

There was a flash from his wand a livid gash appeared across the cheekbone of the unsuspecting Bellatrix. Caught off her guard, she staggered backwards into one of the brothers and instantly, the younger brother whirled round angrily to face Severus, his lips already forming the words of a retaliatory jinx. But Severus was one step ahead.

"_Stupefy!_"

The brother keeled over onto the floor with a thud and the Slytherins, as one, turned their wands on Severus. He had his wand pointed once again at Bellatrix, who raised a hand authoritatively. The other Slytherins lowered their wands. Bellatrix was now sizing him up with a calculating look.

"You," she said, her voice harsh and low. "What's your name, boy? You can't be a Mudblood. No Mudblood knows spells like that."

Severus gazed coldly at her. "My name is Snape. Severus Snape," he replied.

Bellatrix paused for a moment, as though turning his surname over in her mind to see whether it suited her. Then she answered, "I know no Snapes..."

"I'm half-blood," Severus said, interrupting her curtly.

"Your mother's name then, Snape?"

He stared at her stonily. "My mother's name was Eileen Prince," he said.

"Hah, Prince! I know that name," another voice said.

Everyone turned round to see the messy-haired boy with the glasses rising to his feet.

"You alright, James?" the spiky haired Gryffindor said concernedly.

"Yeah, Ted, I'm fine," he replied, shaking his head as if to clear something from it, before getting back to the matter at hand. "But I do know that name, Prince," he said loudly. "There were some Princes in my family. Bet it was that bint who ran away with the Muggle."

"_What did you say?_"

Severus' voice no longer sounded like his. It was low and deadly, and even though he had spoken in no more than a whisper, the edge of threat his question carried was almost tangible. His face had gone pale and his wand hand was shaking with anger.

James, on the other hand, was looking at him with a slightly incredulous half-grin. "Err... Calm down, mate. No need to take offence," he said.

"Oh no. Oh no, no, no..." Severus whispered, his wand arm itching to curse the smug, bespectacled boy to smithereens as a strange, hot feeling began to invade the confines of his mind. "It is _exactly_ the sort of thing I'd take offence at. In fact, if you dare speak about my mother like that again, I'll shrivel your hands to nothing more than a pair of dry husks."

He stepped forward and his hand shot up, pointing his wand directly in the boy James's face. With lightning-quick reflexes, James whipped his own wand out and faced-off with Severus, eyeing him with a cautious contempt.

"Get out of here, Snape, before I make you regret ever making that offer," he said, quietly, his voice just as deadly as Severus'.

"Oh, that wasn't an offer," Severus snarled, "that was a promise."

James snorted derisively. "You're a nutter, you are," he said with a contemptuous toss of his head. "Obviously take after your moth—"

The remark had hit too close to home. Bellatrix was driven completely from Severus' mind as the red mist descended, and the next minute, Severus felt himself slamming into James. He forced the boy to the floor and punched him in the face, knocking off his glasses, before the other boy got over the initial shock and started to fight back. Both boys scrabbled to their feet and began to fight in earnest with their fists - wands forgotten. Severus swung for James and missed, the other retaliating by hauling Severus up by the collar and slamming him into a wall.

Bellatrix was cheering and cackling madly with laughter, and the others made no attempt to break up the fight. Well, all except Lily, who was shouting at them from behind her three young protectors to "Stop it! Just stop it, for god's sake! Stop fighting!" Her pleas fell upon deaf ears, as both boys only redoubled their efforts.

Though after a few moments, the boy James began to gain the upper hand. Managing to get a grip of Severus' long hair, he slammed his head into the magically-reinforced glass of a compartment door, bursting his lip.

But Severus fought back relentlessly as though possessed. No matter how hard James hit him - and the other boy was bigger than him - Severus just kept fighting back, his pride and his ire unwilling to let him concede victory, and his vengeance, to the other.

But just as James was about to land another punch, Severus suddenly felt a familiar and ominous feeling. He shoved James away as hard as he physically could and looked up. Muninn was there, fluttering in the air just behind James. All eyes were staring at it in a mixture of wonder and curiosity.

"What? You had enough, Snape?" James said, brushing a bruised cheekbone with the sleeve of his robe.

"Wh-what are you doing? What are you going to do?" Severus murmured absently, swaying slightly on his feet.

"Eh?" James said, breathing harshly as he raised a suspicious eyebrow. "What are you talking about? I know I didn't hit you that har—"

Then the air pulsed.

The effect was instantaneous and devastating. All around Severus, each and every one of the students, Gryffindors and Slytherins, slumped to the ground in a faint about his feet. Some, he noticed with panic, were bleeding at the nose.

"Muninn!" he croaked, clutching at his ribs which were now white-hot with pain. "What the hell did you do to them?"

But the dragon was staring fiercely at something behind him. Its blue mane bristled and it opened its mouth and hissed menacingly. Severus whipped round, wand at the ready, to be greeted with the sight of a Professor dressed in black, academic robes pointing a wand at him. An amused smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"That's an interesting pet you have there," he said.

The man raised his wand. And then the world went dark.

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AN: Just who is that nasty Professor? You'll find out soon enough. Chapter five is already complete and should be up tomorrow night. 

Once again, all you lovely fanfiction . net people: if you would, please leave a review. It means so much, especially during the early chapters of an author's fic. Even if it's just a one-liner to say you like it, it would be greatly appreciated - you have no idea how much. Thanks!

To all who have reviewed so far - this next one, the Sorting Ceremony, is for you.

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	5. Chapter 5

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Birch-Wood and Dragon-Heartstring, 11¾ Inches

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AN: Regular readers of this fic should know how indebted I am to the wonderful Birgit. Her English is better than mine. Regular readers may also notice that a rather significant change has been made. Professor Sweet no longer teaches DADA, but will instead teach (the much, much more fun) Practical Defence. It works out better all-round, believe me. And those who have been waiting for the appearance of Sweet need not wait any longer. 

Enjoy!

_Another message for the FF . net folk: Thanks so much for your continued support. It does the old self-esteem wonders, believe you me. It keeps me working round the clock to get this thing finished, too, despite the fact that I have a research project to work on. :P Once again, the biggest of all thanks go to Hwyla, Anonymous Ellipsis Reviewer and the simply awesome Iva: awesome and Iva, I have come to the conclusion, are synonymous._

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The light made his head hurt when he opened his eyes, so he closed them again. He decided that a softly-softly approach would be the best course of action. Slowly, he opened one eye, let it get used to the light, and did the same with the other. He blinked to clear his blurred vision. 

Severus found himself lying flat out on his back on a bed in a well-lit, clean-looking room. There were two rows of empty beds similar to his stretching the length of the room and a few large windows with crisp white linen curtains hanging from them. To Severus, it looked disconcertingly like the hospital wards in St. Mungos.

With that unsettling thought in mind, he pushed himself up onto his elbows and shook his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs from his mind. He remembered that he'd been fighting on the train - first with the Bellatrix girl and then with _that_ boy…

His fists curled along with his upper lip. He didn't regret going after him. Not at all. In fact, Severus sorely wished the boy was in the room so he could do it all over again. For the next few minutes or so, he closed his eyes and entertained himself by reliving the moment when he had felt his fist connect oh-so-satisfyingly with the side of James's head. Then he jumped as an impatient cough from somewhere to his right interrupted his pleasant reverie. He whirled round to face the source of the noise.

There was a man sitting at his bedside, gazing coolly down his nose at him with a pair of pale blue eyes. Instantly, Severus stiffened and stared back at him with a resentful yet curious caution.

The man looked young, perhaps in his early thirties, and he was tall and slender. His hair was of a golden-blonde colour and a few careless strands of it graced his flawlessly pale forehead. He had a classically straight nose, which complimented his high cheekbones and a pair of pale lips that seemed moulded for arrogance.

Though Severus knew it was rude to stare, he couldn't help but look at the man - who had a face that was positively constructed by Nature for that very sole purpose. As Severus observed him, he could have been forgiven for mistaking the man for a statue, carved skilfully from marble. Everything about him - his face, his form, his bearing - was beautifully, perfectly, striking.

But the man also resembled a statue in that there was a coldness that radiated from him almost in waves as he sat there with his hands clasped in his lap, still as a Hellenic artist's masterpiece, as though he himself were inanimate.

Then Severus noted with alarm the man's severe, black academic robes, and as it dawned on him that this young Professor was the same man who had Stunned him on the train, his expression changed suddenly from that of a grudging interest to outright dislike.

"You Stunned me, didn't you?" he said bluntly, not at all in the mood for standing upon ceremony. "On the train."

The man looked at him for a prolonged moment before replying.

"Yes. I did," he said, with equal bluntness.

His voice was low but clear, and Severus bristled at the man's posh accent.

Probably thinks he's a cut about the rest, Severus thought mutinously.

Well, that was going to change. Severus resolved not to take any lip from the man. Not now. Not at all. Not ever.

"Is there any chance at all that you're going to tell me why?" Severus asked, his tone sharpened with a deliberate edge of insolence.

The man stared at him again for another prolonged, calculated moment before replying, which made Severus feel rather awkward.

"I was coming to break up the fight," he answered eventually. "I would have done exactly the same to each and every one of the students involved had they refused to co-operate."

Severus snorted contemptuously. "Oh yes, so you took one look at me and thought I looked like I wasn't going to co-operate? To be honest, I think you're just wand-happy."

For the first time, his words elicited a betrayal some sort of emotion. The edges of the man's lips turned upwards in a wry smile.

"Well it seemed that when I arrived on the scene you'd already done the job for me," he said quietly, before adding significantly, "or, should I say, your dragon did."

Severus went cold.

_Muninn…_

How could he have forgotten about Muninn? Panic began to jangle sickeningly in the region of his chest and he tore his gaze away from the Professor to let his eyes sweep the room for the dragon. When he couldn't find it, he turned directly to the young man once again, his eyes smouldering with anger.

"What have you done to it?" he hissed. "Where is it? _What have you done to it?_"

"Don't fret," the man said casually, leaning back in his chair and now looking decidedly amused. "Your pet caused us quite a bit of trouble, you know - that is when Horace could finally be persuaded to leave his new recruits and get off his massive backside and lend a wand," he added, muttering almost to himself as a perfectly sculpted lip curled.

Severus blinked incredulously at the man's snide remark. Was he talking about a fellow staff member?

"The thing wouldn't leave you alone," he continued, a little more animated now. "Almost choked me to death when I tried to lift you up to take you to my compartment. It took both of us to subdue it, and - and I apologise for this, after all, it is your pet - I finally got it with a Binding Curse."

Then, as though he had predicted Severus' outraged response, he raised a pale hand and added calmly, "Your pet is quite unharmed and I will see to it personally that it is transported to the dormitory of your appropriate house when you have been Sorted."

The man's last closing remark brought Severus down to earth, once again, with a bump.

"Have I missed the Sorting, then?" Severus asked, crestfallen.

His disappointment must have shown clearly on his face because the corners of the young Professor's mouth twitched upwards again in what Severus supposed might have passed for a smile.

"No, I think not," he replied. "The Headmaster assured me that on that eventuality he would send Madame Pomfrey a note, upon receipt of which she would be obliged to escort you to his office where you would instead be Sorted."

"Oh. Right. That's good, I suppose," he replied, a little embarrassed now as the recollection of the day's events began to creep up on him. It was, after all, why he was in here in the first place.

The Professor tactfully ignored his discomfort and nodded his head - a small gesture, but one that Severus appreciated.

"Yes, that is good," he said, echoing Severus with a quiet amusement. "So I suggest you hurry, otherwise you'll miss it completely. I shall escort you down to the Great Hall to ensure that you don't become Peeves' first unfortunate victim of the academic year."

There was a flash of that wry smile again, before he rose swiftly to his feet in one fluid motion. Then he looked down his nose at Severus, frowning slightly as though irritated that he wasn't managing to keep up.

"Well?" he intoned impatiently, raising an eyebrow. "What are you waiting for? Get up!"

As though electrified, Severus shot up from the bed and stood bolt upright in front of the man, a little shell-shocked at his brusque, unsympathetic manner. The man surveyed him critically and when he seemed satisfied, he turned quickly on his heel without another word and strode out of the room, his black robes billowing in his wake.

Bloody hell, he doesn't hang about, Severus thought grumpily as he had to muster a jog to keep up with the young Professor's long strides.

They passed out of the room, leaving the empty beds behind them and as they did so, Severus recalled another of the day's events. His face went grey.

"S-Sir? "The other students - are they alright?" he called out hesitantly, not sure whether or not he wanted to know the answer.

The young man didn't turn round, but directed his address at large to the long, dimly lit corridor they were walking down. "The other students were fine, and are all present in the Great Hall," he replied indifferently. "Bellatrix Black had to be treated for a Slashing Hex, a young Miss Evans for a Searing Curse, and Rabastan Lestrange and a young Mr Potter both appeared to have been Stupefied at some point in the proceedings." Then he added with a little more emphasis, "The others seemed to have suffered from am extremely sharp and localised change in the air pressure around them - which is what you really wanted to know about, no doubt."

Severus said nothing, but carried on walking. The fact had gradually begun to dawn on him that it wasn't even his first day and yet he'd made more enemies than he could count on both hands. He sighed resignedly and rolled his eyes.

_Bloody typical…_

"They'll be fine," he heard the Professor continue, still with his back to him and marching along at quite a pace. "Most of them came round fairly quickly and were sent back to their compartments..." There was an almost imperceptible pause before he uttered another snide aside, seemingly unable to resist the prospect of getting a dig in "... some of them to Horace Slughorn's, unfortunately for them."

Safely out of sight, this time Severus smirked. The young Professor obviously had a vendetta against this Horace Slughorn man. For a brief moment, he amused himself by imagining the staff meetings descending into a frenzied hexing match, with witches and wizards sprouting feelers and horns at random and each enraged Professor hurling foul abuse at their attackers in turn. His imaginary fight had degenerated into throwing chairs and was just getting interesting when his escort stopped short in front of a huge pair of double doors, which were so high that Severus had to crane his neck and peer short-sightedly to see the top of them.

"The Great Hall," the Professor said shortly, speaking to the woodwork. "I suggest you make yourself look presentable. You _will_ be stared at."

To Severus' puzzlement, he dipped a hand into the folds of his robes and pulled out a gold pocket-watch.

"You have thirty seconds," he announced, flipping it open. "Starting now."

Severus blinked owlishly, completely and utterly at a loss. Was the man mad?

"I'm sorry, Professor… but I don't understand," he said, backing away a little.

"Twenty-nine… twenty-eight… twenty-seven…" the man said with that flash of a wry smile, keeping an eye on the ticking second-hand of his pocket-watch.

For a moment, Severus dithered, panicking slightly, as he was not quite sure what was expected of him. Then a mirror appeared in front of him - a black comb hovering in the air beside it. He risked a glance at the Professor. His wand was out and he was still concentrating on his watch, counting down from thirty in his low voice.

"Twenty-two… twenty-one…"

His cheeks turning a nasty brick colour, Severus snatched the comb roughly from the air and gave his hair a few rather unnecessarily violent brushes with it. He had a hair-tie around his wrist, and he pulled his black, shoulder-length hair up quickly into a loose ponytail. As the thirty-second time limit drew nearer to its end, Severus adjusted the buttons on his robes and gave himself a brief dusting down. After a final check in the mirror, Severus turned to face the man with a sour look that said: "There. Are you happy?"

The young Professor ignored him until he had finished his countdown.

"Three… two… one - and your time is up," he said, flipping the pocket watch shut and slipping it back into his robes.

Then he looked Severus up and down.

"It'll do," he said.

Severus' face was a picture.

"Now let's go in," he continued. "You should be able to slot yourself in at the end without any trouble."

"How do you know it's not finished?" Severus asked, trying to catch him out.

"Because the place is silent," the Professor answered wryly. "Such a state of quiescence, as you will soon come to learn, very rarely occurs in the Great Hall - incidentally, this is usually only during the start of term Sorting Ceremony." He spun on his heel smartly and added, "Now we'd better get in or you'll miss it."

With a flick of his wand, the huge doors opened and the man took off through them at his cracking pace once again. This time Severus was ready and, admirably, he managed to keep up with him. This was mainly because he didn't want to look like a disobedient little puppy trotting dolefully behind its master after having been punished.

However, all thoughts of appearance evaporated as Severus entered the Great Hall for the very first time. He had to stop himself from gasping audibly and instead resorted to gaping in astonishment. His mother had told him about the Great Hall on their shopping trips together - about how the ceiling was bewitched to look like the sky, about the four house tables, about the feasts, about the ghosts' processions and about the countless thin slivers of white candles that hovered in the air, casting a warm, flickering light over the whole proceedings - but nothing she said could ever have done it justice.

It was everything his mother had told him and more. The four house tables stretched out before him - filling up fast with new occupants. He could see the Hogwarts ghosts looking down on the ceremony, the house ghosts eyeing their new representatives to see whether they measured up or not. Empty plates and goblets adorned the tables, just waiting to be filled, and upon the vaulted ceiling could be seen small pinpricks of jewelled light piercing the veil of velvety darkness.

Up ahead was a small group of first-year boys waiting nervously about a stool that had just been vacated by one of the boys from the train. It was Sirius' nervous looking friend, and he had scampered over to the Gryffindor table amid great whoops and cheers. On the stool sat the battered Sorting Hat itself - worn and patched through centuries of use. A stern-looking witch was reading from a roll of parchment, but she paused and looked up over the rims of her spectacles as the doors opened.

The young Professor had been right about one thing. Everyone was staring at them. Whispers began to ripple around the hall, breaking the silence. A group of new first-year Hufflepuff girls to his right began to giggle coquettishly and point. Severus' brows knitted together. What the hell were they laughing at?

It all became hilariously clear as he heard one of them whisper to another, "Wow, Heloise, look at that hair. He's gorgeous, isn't he?"

"God yeah!" the girl exclaimed animatedly. "That was the teacher I was telling you about on the boats!"

"Oh… That's a pity," said the other girl, morosely.

"Eh? What're you on about? What's a pity?"

"That he's a teacher, of course!" the other girl explained, sending both into fits of giggles.

Severus snorted and looked up at the young Professor to gauge his reaction. He'd obviously heard them, though he made a show of pointedly ignoring them. His mouth had thinned and his posture was strangely stiff as he picked up the pace, determined to be as far away as possible from any giggling first-year girls.

Funny as it was, as the stool, the Sorting Hat and the clutch of nervous first-years loomed nearer, Severus began to feel a little sick. He saw the stern-looking witch nod at the young Professor, who nodded back and addressed Severus.

"This is where we part ways," he said quietly, surveying him with his odd, searching gaze. "Although just for the night, I should hope, unless you end up running away in despair…"

He then unexpectedly patted Severus on the back and gestured towards the stool.

"Good luck," he said, before he swept away and out of a door without another word.

And he was alone again. Awkwardly, feeling the stares of the entire student body burning into the back of his head, he slipped into the group next to a stout boy with sandy coloured hair.

The boy turned to him and whispered, "God, don't you just wish it was all over and done with? I wish McGonagall would hurry up and call my name."

Severus nodded mutely, as he heard the stern-looking witch, presumably Professor McGonagall, call out a name from the roll of parchment.

"Rosier, Evan!"

"Oh, there goes Evan," the boy whispered, as another first-year with reddish-brown hair placed the Sorting Hat on top of his head. "He'll get into Slytherin, there's no doubt that. All of his family are Slytherins. And Dunstan's in already - his father was a Slytherin, you know. I hope I get in—"

"Slytherin!" he heard the Sorting Hat shout.

Evan Rosier hopped off the stool looking relieved and pleased with himself. As he passed on his way to the Slytherin table, he gave the whispering boy the thumbs up. The boy reciprocated.

"Told you," he began again, as another boy, Gaspard Shingleton, was summoned to the stool. "All in Slytherin. It's not so certain with me, you see, because I've got loads of Ravenclaws in my closet, ha ha. Not that that's a bad thing. Ravenclaw's fine, really. I'm just afraid of getting lumped in with the Gryffindors."

The boy shuddered melodramatically and winked at him. Severus offered an insincere smile in return.

"Ravenclaw!" the hat announced, as Shingleton beamed and trotted off happily to his new House table.

"I wonder who's next?" the boy whispered again, sighing. "Trust me to be Wilkes, eh?"

They both watched as Professor McGonagall straightened her glasses and read out the next name on the parchment.

"Snape, Severus!"

Severus felt the blood drain from his face. His expression must have given him away again, because the boy Wilkes nudged him conspiratorially.

"That you?" he asked.

Severus nodded mutely.

"Ah well, don't be nervous. At least you'll be over and done with soon. Now on you pop," he said pompously, shoving him forward. "Don't let the hat give you any lip."

Severus winced and stepped forward to the stool. McGonagall handed him the battered Sorting Hat. When he sat down, he gazed out over at the whole student body. His eye caught someone waving madly at him from the Gryffindor table. It was Lily Evans. She was sitting with the first year boys from the train: Remus Lupin, Sirius, Sirius' fair-haired friend, and the Arch Idiot himself, James Potter. It appeared that they'd all been Sorted into Gryffindor.

Trying not to let his distaste show on his face, he waved back weakly. From the small group of first years, he could see Wilkes giving him the thumbs up. Sighing, he lifted the Sorting Hat up and gingerly placed it on his head.

As it fell over his eyes, all the lights went out and an eerie silence descended. He sat there feeling like a fool, twiddling his thumbs, until a small voice crept into the confines of his mind.

"Hmmm… Difficult. Very difficult," the hat began. "A tough little nut to crack."

"Nut am I?" Severus thought angrily. "Just like my mum, eh?"

"A little, yes," the hat answered, to Severus' surprise. "You have her fierce intellect. And her courage - oh yes, there's lots of that. Perhaps you would do well in Gryffindor…"

"Not Gryffindor," Severus said firmly, thinking a little of what Wilkes had said but mostly of the prospect of being stuck sharing a dormitory with the Arch Idiot for seven years. "I'll take Hufflepuff. I'll gladly take Ravenclaw. Please just don't put me in Gryffindor!"

"Well you're definitely not going into Hufflepuff," the hat said with a chuckle. "You're hard-working, but you're neither honest nor upright."

Severus' jaw dropped indignantly.

"Says you, you filthy piece of sackcloth!" his mind retorted.

"Indeed," the Sorting Hat countered. "I can see into your soul, Mr Snape."

Unable to bite back, Severus shut his mouth and decided to sit there and seethe quietly while the hat came to a decision.

"Then again, perhaps Gryffindor is not the house for you," it continued, thoughtfully. "There is pride, knowledge and a wisdom beyond your years, which would sit well in Ravenclaw. However, you have an almost insatiable thirst to prove yourself and your abilities to others - and there is talent, ambition and power, oh yes. A rough diamond waiting to be cut and polished. Yes… you're a tough nut to crack, Severus Snape, but I think your needs would be best suited in your mother's house - in SLYTHERIN!"

The hat shouted out the last word for the whole hall to hear. Severus tore the hat from his head and threw it into Professor McGonagall's waiting hands as though it were toxic. He stood up. There was a cheer from the Slytherin table. He felt slightly sick. Lily was there at the front end of the Gryffindor table, looking quite disappointed. She shrugged her shoulders at him and smiled weakly. Severus didn't even have the strength to smile back. Jerkily, he turned away and began to head over to the Slytherin table. Slytherin? How could he have gotten into Slytherin? He was a half-blood, for goodness sake!

As he stepped down, Wilkes grinned at him shouted "Good on you, Snape! I'll hopefully see you soon!"

Feeling strangely numb, Severus nodded. Oh god. Bellatrix Black was in Slytherin. Rabastan Lestrange and his brother were in Slytherin. Why couldn't the hat have put him in Ravenclaw? He hadn't made any enemies in Ravenclaw. Well, not yet…

When he reached the Slytherin table, he passed along the ranks, heading towards where Evan Rosier and another boy - presumably Dunstan - sat. As he moved, he caught sight of Bellatrix Black and the older Slytherins eyeing him curiously. The blonde boy with the ponytail leaned forward and whispered something to her and she nodded gravely, not taking her eyes off him. Severus looked away. Evan Rosier and the Dunstan boy were grinning at him and beckoning.

"Come on, Snape! Come join us, your fellow Slytherins!" Rosier called out, clapping him on the back as he sat down on the bench.

"Dunstan Avery," the other boy said, holding out a thick hand.

Severus shook it graciously. "Severus Snape," he replied.

"So, are you the one with the mad dragon for a pet?" Avery continued, his eyes alight with curiosity.

Severus nodded stiffly, not liking the boy's unwelcome allusion to his "mad dragon" whom he was sorely missing and worried about.

"Amazing!" Rosier exclaimed, as in the background the hat sorted a Timothy Stebbins into Ravenclaw. "Talk about exotic pets! Where did you get it? Oh! Wait, there's Isidore! He's last up, ha ha! Didn't he say he would be, eh? Didn't he say?"

Thank you, Isidore, Severus thought with relief. The interruption bought him a little more time to think up a suitable story as to how he'd managed to acquire a pet dragon.

The hat was barely on the boy's head before it shouted "SLYTHERIN!"

There was another cheer from the Slytherin table, Dunstan Avery and Evan Rosier cheering the loudest. Severus barely managed to muster a grin. Yes, it was all fun and games now, but just wait till they found out what he'd done to Bellatrix Black and Rabastan Lestrange. And even worse - when they found out he was a half-blood…

Wilkes sat down next to Avery with a thud. Handshakes were extended all round.

"Good on you, Snape!" Wilkes exclaimed, leaning over and giving him a jocular punch on the arm. "Knew you were Slytherin material as soon as I clapped eyes on you."

Severus smiled tolerantly, but inside he was thinking, _"Of course you didn't you horrible prat. You just wanted someone to offload your nerves onto. At that moment, I could have been Sorted into Gryffindor, for all you cared."_

"Oh, yes," Rosier added. "We'll need a few good people like you - a few good duellers, I mean - when we go after those Gryffindors."

A quick glance over at the Gryffindor table saw the Arch Idiot predictably making a fool of himself. To Severus' delight, Lily Evans looked disgusted and turned away from him to talk to another girl. Duelling with James Potter was something he would relish.

Then, a strange hush fell over the Great Hall. The last student had been Sorted and Albus Dumbledore had risen from his seat at the High Table, waiting patiently for everyone to settle down. He didn't have to wait long. His eyes swept the room and with a small smile, he pointed his wand to his throat, and began to address the student body.

"Welcome!" he said cheerfully, throwing his arms out wide. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! Now before we begin the start-of-term feast, I would like to say a few words as always. The Forbidden Forest remains forbidden," he announced, checking it off on his fingers, "as does any sort of night-time wandering, and, perhaps most significantly, we may include impromptu duelling in the school corridors on that list."

Beside him, Evan Rosier made a noise of contempt.

"On that note, we now turn to something that is delightfully approved of here at Hogwarts - the consumption of delicious food!"

With a wave of his hand, the empty plates and goblets on the House tables suddenly filled with piles and piles of food. Soups, sausages, mashed potatoes, roast potatoes, roast chicken, roast beef, great tureens of steamed vegetables smothered in butter, ice-creams, chocolate cake, sticky-toffee pudding and huge carafes of ice-cold pumpkin juice. Severus' eyes widened. He'd never seen so much food on one table in his lifetime.

"Tuck in!" Dumbledore called out, closing his wonderfully short speech and sitting down once again in his chair at the High Table.

Briefly, Severus noticed that the young Professor had returned. He had sat down next to a small man propped up on several cushions. Eyeing the fare with distaste, he picked up a chicken leg with a resigned expression. Severus laughed to himself. He thought the food did look good, but his stomach had tied itself into a guilty knot. He kept thinking about Muninn.

"Looks good!" Avery exclaimed, filling his plate up to the brim with a little of everything.

"I'll say," Wilkes agreed, reaching over for a carafe of pumpkin juice and pouring out four goblets. "Though it remains to be seen whether the sticky toffee pudding is as good as Fossie's."

He handed a goblet to each of the four boys: one to Evan Rosier, one Dunstan Avery and one to Severus, keeping the last for himself. Severus nodded his thanks and took his up graciously.

"I propose a toast," Wilkes announced.

"To what, then?" Rosier asked impatiently. "If you have to, make it a good one, Wilkes, I'm starving."

For a moment, Isidore Wilkes looked pensive, then he looked up at them all and grinned. He raised his glass.

"To Slytherin!" he called out, his voice ringing out over the table as clear as a bell.

There was a clink as four glasses met. A timeless gesture in gratitude of one its founding father, of the hope of its continued prosperity, and in celebration of their new home and of the path that it would set them on - that as yet unbeaten path that they would continue to walk down for the rest of their lives.

It was dark in the dungeon dormitory, but that didn't bother Severus. As he had descended through the trapdoor, having successfully dodged everyone, he had only had one thing on his mind.

There were four four-poster beds in a round room, their green curtains drawn back to let the air in. On one, lay a forlorn white figure, stretched out, uncomfortably straight and still, as though held there by an invisible force. As he entered, its bright blue eyes darted towards him and when they caught sight of him, they blinked sadly.

When Severus saw his dragon, he felt like crying. Rushing over to it, he pulled out his wand from his robes and lifted the spell. Muninn instantly coiled up and lifted its delicate head, gazing at him on one side with a grateful expression.

"I'm so sorry, Muninn," he whispered, sitting down beside it on the bed and stroking its mane. "I shouldn't have got involved. It was so stupid of me. You saved me and this is how I repay you?"

Muninn nuzzled his ear and fluttered onto his lap. "Do not say such things, Severus," it said reassuringly. "You did not get the chance. The wizard Icarus Sweet cast a spell on you. Had I been my normal size, I would have ripped him apart."

A strange sensation stirred at the pit of Severus' stomach. "Icarus Sweet?" he said, slowly. "That was Icarus Sweet, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

"I assume so," Muninn said, thoughtfully. "At least that's what the other wizard, Horace Slughorn, called him."

Severus fell silent for awhile. Then he offered, "He was friends with my mum."

"Icarus Sweet or Horace Slughorn?"

"Icarus Sweet."

"Was he?"

"Yes."

"Oh," Muninn said thoughtfully. He paused and then said, "I do not like him."

Severus said nothing in response and when Muninn did not get an opinion, he stretched his head round to look him in the face, regarding him seriously. "You do not like him, do you?"

"I did meet him," Severus admitted. "I woke up in the hospital wing. He took me there, I think. My ribs don't hurt any more and all the cuts are gone, so I think someone healed me while I was there. It could have been him or that Madame Pomfrey woman."

"You did not answer my question," Muninn pointed out, unrelenting.

Severus sighed and rolled over onto his side. "I don't know what to think of him," he said, speaking to the ceiling. "He seemed a bit strange, to be honest, but not in a bad way. I don't think he gets on with people. In general."

"That would explain all the colourful names he was calling Horace Slughorn," Muninn said amusedly.

"What like?" Severus said, sitting up and laughing, eager to get the gossip.

Muninn began to rattle off a long list of obscenities, each one more creative and offensive than the last, and by the time it had finished, Severus was wiping tears of laugher from his eyes.

"Severus," it asked suddenly. "I am an old creature, and I know many things, but what is a Nimbus? I am assuming Icarus Sweet was not referring to a cloud, for that would not make much sense."

"It'll be a broomstick he's talking about," he said, kicking his shoes off and settling down on his bed.

"Oh…" Muninn said, its eyes widening in shocked realisation. "Oh!"

Severus descended into fits of laughter once again and he carried on talking with his dragon until the other three boys put in an appearance.

Where before they had been treating him as a new-found friend and fellow Slytherin comrade-in-arms, they were now behaving in a strangely standoffish way, Wilkes not even bothering to meet his eye half the time. The three of them unpacked their trunks and talked amongst themselves, largely ignoring Severus. Any eleven year old who hadn't possessed Severus' insight and cynical grasp of human nature would have felt hurt and unjustly rejected. Severus, however, knew it was inevitable. No doubt someone had told them he was a half-blood.

He smiled ruefully and deliberately decided not to close the curtains, but to leave them open and listen in obviously and carefully to their conversation. Giving them the satisfaction of discussing his suspect lineage in private was not an option. If they were intent on making his life hell for him, then he was going to give back what he got tenfold.

Besides, he thought, as he stroked Muninn's hair, as long as he had Muninn, things would always look up.

* * *

AN: Yes, Icarus Sweet belongs to the HAWT MENZ CLUB of the Harry Potter Universe. The reaction of the first-year Hufflepuff girls is the standard, initial reaction to the man - until they get to know him better, that is. 

You may also notice that I like my parallels. Comparing and contrasting characters is a game I love playing with myself and anyone who happens to be reading. The Sorting was particularly enlightening. After I wrote it, I realised that Snape's experience was an inversion of Harry's: almost put into Gryffindor and sorted into Slytherin/ almost put into Slytherin and sorted into Gryffindor. Though Severus did not make a choice and didn't even think of considering himself fit for Slytherin house. Yet he was... Interesting.

The role-call of reviewers: Iva, Hwyla and Anonymous Ellipsis Reviewer - thank you once again for your reviews. You don't have to do it, but you do and that's what matters.

Thanks, guys. This next one's for you.

- Ada.


	6. Chapter 6

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Birch-Wood and Dragon-Heartstring, 11¾ Inches

* * *

AN: Readers, I AM ON FIRE! Not in the sense that I have spontaneously combusted (heaven forbid!) No, I am writing like a mad, prolific, writing lunatic - and I can't seem to stop myself. This is probably down to the fact that I have a research project to start. sigh 

Once again, the Mammoth Thank of all thanks is hurled in the general direction of the Sugar Quill's lovely Birgit. Amongst other things, she sorted out the matchstick/needle confusion and made sure everything was being transfigured properly.

Big thanks also go out to Anya and Reesie for the reviews on the last chapter. If you like Snape - go and check their fics out. You won't be disappointed!

So here's the latest installment to what Anya has now deemed the "Wee!Snape" fic.

Enjoy!

P.S. I hope Sweet's not too scary for you...

_For the fanfiction . net people: Massive thanks to Iva, Claire and Telos for the chapter five reviews. This next one's for you! _

* * *

It was the end of Severus' first month at Hogwarts, and to celebrate, he and Muninn turned to _æðm_ and then sneaked out and flew up to the roof where they could sit and have a proper chat, uninterrupted by prying dorm-mates or jobsworth caretakers. Sat there upon the roof ridge with Gryffindor Tower on one side and Ravenclaw Tower on the other, the boy wizard and the amphiptere watched flock after flock of clouds pass over the waning moon. Severus, wearing his thick black jacket, looked pensive, his arms wrapped tightly around his slight frame, and the dragon had taken the opportunity to stretch out and to return to its normal size. Its hair fluttered gently in the chilly night breeze and, sometimes, its scales caught the moonlight and shone gently. 

"So, Severus," Muninn began, breaking the peaceful silence. "Do you like it here?"

Severus gave some serious thought to the dragon's question before answering.

"I think I like it," he said hesitantly. "Certainly I like it much better because you're here. I don't think I could stand it if you weren't." He paused for a moment, and smiled, recalling Professor Sweet's words at the Sorting Ceremony, repeating them for Muninn's benefit. "More than likely, I'd have run away in despair."

"You would be in a lot more trouble, certainly," Muninn said slyly.

"Ha! You're not wrong there..."

* * *

At breakfast the morning after the Sorting, Severus sat apart from his other house mates, reading a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ while Muninn sat on the table, staring fiercely at whoever even looked Severus' way. Earlier on, his dorm-mates had tried to play a practical joke on him. If his memory served him correctly, the proposed "joke" was something like raiding his trunk and scattering all his underpants about the Common Room - very amusing. It had backfired in the worst possible way, however, when Muninn had sprung up from under the bed, bit Rosier on the hand and pinned them all to the dorm walls. Severus had woken up, a little nonplussed to find them hanging there, shamefaced and sullen, but when Muninn had told him what had happened, he was quite content to leave them there. And they were still there. Muninn would let them down once they had learned their lesson, no doubt.

He sipped his pumpkin juice idly and his eyes glided over an article, it's headline roaring: "DEATH EATERS STRIKE AGAIN! DARK MARK TERROR!"

His lips thinning, he turned the page rather too quickly, not wanting to think about the unwelcome memories that were stirring treacherously at the back of his mind. He wondered whether his dad had, indeed, went to visit his mum at St. Mungos like he'd said in his letter.

Then, behind him, there was a polite cough. He glanced over his paper at Muninn. The dragon was bristling. Painfully slowly, he laid his Daily Prophet down on the table and turned round to face the intruders. Had someone let Avery and the others down and they'd come to get their revenge?

No. It was James Potter, standing there running a hand sheepishly through his messy black hair, flanked by Sirius Black and their little, fair-haired friend, who he'd since learned was called Peter Pettigrew. Remus Lupin stood a little way off, clutching at a pile of books and watching the other three Gryffindors with a strange, drawn expression.

This was no better than the Slytherins. Instinctively, Severus' fist curled round his wand in the pocket of his robes.

"What do you want, Potter?" he said impatiently.

"I want you to call that mad bloody guard dog off so I can speak to you, that's what I want," James said curtly, eyeing Muninn with distaste.

Severus rolled his eyes and shrugged, gesturing at Muninn to hold off for just a moment. Muninn coiled itself up and stopped hissing, though its eyes didn't leave Potter for a second.

"That better, Potter?" Severus said casually.

"Yeah. _That's_ better," James retorted, clearly irritated to be thrown off his stride.

"Look, James, mate, " Sirius said, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder, "this really isn't going too well. You should just leave this Slytherin git to his misery—"

"No, Sirius," James urged, shrugging him off. "I said to Evans I'd apologise and I will - and you lot'll be witnesses to prove it!"

"How pathetic," Severus said with a nasty grin, "needing your back-up men to prove to a girl that you apologised to a 'Slytherin git' instead of leaving him to his misery."

James stared at him, incensed. He seemed so angry that he was, for once, lost for words. Severus worried for a moment that Potter was going to turn round and hex him, but his fears went unfounded.

"You know what?" Potter began, his voice oddly strained and quiet, "I think you're right, Sirius. He's not worth it. Not worth even wasting my breath on."

And with that, James whirled around on his heel, Sirius casting a supercilious grin over his shoulder at Severus as the Gryffindors left for their first class of the day. Remus Lupin looked straight ahead, determined not to meet his eye - just like Wilkes and the others last night.

Trembling with embarrassment and anger, Severus stared after them, his black eyes burning with such ferocity that it was as though he felt he could curse them all into oblivion just by looking at them. He realised that people were staring again, and with a hot knot of ire twisting his insides, he snatched up his Daily Prophet and started reading it again, though he knew he was taking in nothing. James Potter's Gryffindorian self-righteous indignation and Sirius Black's stupid, self-satisfied grin kept floating to the forefront of his mind.

_"Would you like me to punish them?"_ Muninn whispered into his mind.

"No," he mumbled quietly. "I'll get them myself. Ollivander is yours. James Potter and Sirius Black are mine."

Muninn nodded.

_"As you wish..."_

After the little incident at breakfast, Severus was more than glad to escape the tense atmosphere and the prying eyes of the masses in Great Hall and to replace it all with Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration classroom. Muninn decided that he would spend the day outside, so the dragon opened a window and promised to be back by dinner time. Severus agreed and then duly trudged along to McGonagall's classroom.

Professor McGonagall, like her colleague Professor Sweet, looked fairly young, although a few tell-tale lines betrayed her age. Her jet black hair was pinned up by half a dozen steel hair-pins into a regimentally tight bun - and with her stern gaze sweeping over the classroom with an air of an accomplished disciplinarian, Severus knew that this wasn't a woman to cross.

They had begun by attempting to transfigure matchsticks into needles. Some students were having more success than others. Severus looked over at the two Ravenclaw boys he'd seen Sorted the night before. Timothy Stebbins grinned as Gaspard Shingleton managed to turn his matchstick into a wooden needle - a fat lot of good that'd do anyone! Severus snorted and stared stonily at his matchstick. It refused to be transfigured.

McGonagall had given them very strict instructions on how they had to go about it.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone caught fooling around in my class will leave and not come back," she had warned, before giving a demonstration to the class.

"You must will your matchstick to change," she had said, "and your wand must be waved thus - now watch closely..."

McGonagall's wand hand had given a little flourish and the matchstick had transformed into a perfectly pointy silver needle.

So why was it so bloody difficult?

Severus sat there and tried to will his matchstick to change. That wasn't the hard part. It was getting the wave of the wand right. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what the Professor had done, waving his wand as he went through the motions. McGonagall had twisted it to the left, then downward, then upward in a figure of eight before she jabbed it sharply just over the matchstick - but that wasn't working.

_Then try something else_, his brain said.

With his eyes closed, he imagined the cursed matchstick as a needle, but instead of jabbing his wand over it, he tried something else...

Suddenly, there was a gasp from the desk behind him. He opened his eyes and a huge grin spread across his pallid face. His matchstick had finally, _finally_ transformed into a needle. Quick as lightning, for fear he would forget how he'd done it, he scribbled some notes down onto a sheet of parchment. Then he looked up to see Professor McGonagall staring down at him.

"Mister Snape," she said, fixing him with a stern eye, "did I not say you had to follow my instructions to the letter?"

"Yes, Professor," Severus replied obediently, though a little annoyed that he was being castigated for so slight an offence as to wave his wand a little differently from the way the textbook told him.

"Then why didn't you follow my instructions to the letter?" she pressed, raising an eyebrow.

Severus allowed himself a brief pause for thought, before deciding to be honest. "I thought my way worked better, Professor. And it did."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew that that had been the Wrong Thing To Say. McGonagall's nostrils flared and her mouth thinned dangerously.

"Transfiguration, Mr Snape, is a very dangerous branch of magic. If you insist on experimenting willy-nilly, not having any basis for it or any informed opinion, then you run a serious risk of putting yourself and your fellow students in jeopardy."

Outraged, Severus opened his mouth to protest, but he closed it abruptly following a smouldering warning look from McGonagall that said: "You are digging yourself a hole, Mr Snape. I suggest you lay down your spade - otherwise you will be in a whole world of trouble."

"Five points from Slytherin, Mr Snape, for not following my instructions," she said curtly, as Severus looked murderous, before turning on her heel and heading over to Shingleton's desk to give him a hand.

By all accounts, his first Transfiguration lesson had been a bit of a fiasco. Potions, however, had went much better than he'd ever expected.

The door to Slughorn's dungeon classroom was already wide open as Severus approached. Strange and alluring smells wafted seductively from over the threshold, beckoning them inside. Slughorn stood in the centre of the classroom, his hands hooked into his braces and beaming over his walrus moustache at his new students. Severus took a table to himself next to a large cauldron filled with a vigorous, bubbling liquid. He craned his neck to get a better view of the contents and recognised it immediately. It was a simple Swelling Solution, one that he used to help his mother brew every weekend to put on the plants out in the back garden.

Lost for a moment in the memory, he started when Lily Evans sat down with a dark-haired Gryffindor girl at the table next to him.

"Hi, Severus!" she said a little breathlessly, setting up her cauldron and scales. "How's Muninn? I heard Professor Sweet hexed him."

"Muninn is fine," Severus replied archly, while concentrating on his cauldron. "He let himself out this morning before I went to Transfiguration. You're right, though, Sweet did get him - with a Binding Curse."

Lily snorted disapprovingly. "Everyone in the dormitory was going on about how amazing he is, about how..." and here she put on a high-pitched, giggly voice, "...about how simply _gorgeous_ he is, and how lovely his hair is, and that they want to just drown in his big, blue eyes." Lily pretended to throw up.

Severus smirked at this piece of news. "Well they'll get a shock if any of them try it on with him."

"Oh yeah, I saw Sweet bringing you in to the Great Hall last night," Lily said, her eyes alight with curiosity. "What was he like?"

Severus thought for a moment and then answered truthfully, with a slight smile. "Wand-happy. Intimidating. Unpredictable. Impatient. Intolerant. Really sarcastic - and he _hates_ Professor Slughorn—"

Then, as if taking the mention of his name as a cue to begin the lesson, Professor Slughorn stepped smartly over to the big cauldron next to Severus and surveyed his newest acquisitions with a fond, paternal air. Severus and Lily cut off their conversation.

"Good morning all," Slughorn said brightly, addressing the classroom at large. "Welcome to your first ever foray into the fascinating world of Potions. I will not waste any time with preamble, as I'm sure you are all simply bursting with eager excitement at the prospect of getting your hands dirty." Slughorn paused for a moment to direct a significant look at his pupils. There were lots of nodding heads, at which Slughorn seemed satisfied. "Excellent! Then I shall begin straightaway with a little test of your knowledge—"

Slughorn's voice faltered into silence as the dungeon door creaked open. Rosier, Wilkes and Avery sidled in, their heads down and their faces ashen. Wilkes caught Severus' eye and looked away instantly. Severus smirked.

"Now, now, boys," Slughorn said sternly. "I won't have anyone traipsing in late to my classes. You get here on time or you don't come at all, yes?"

"Yes, Professor Slughorn," they muttered, taking a seat, Wilkes looking over sheepishly at Severus.

"Now then," Slughorn said, picking up where he had left off, "a test of your knowledge. Does anyone know what is in this cauldron?"

Slughorn made a sweeping gesture, indicating the one filled with the Swelling Solution. Severus raised his hand. Slughorn pointed at him.

"It's a Swelling Solution," he answered.

_"It's a Swelling Solution!"_

There came a snort of laughter from his right as Sirius Black stuck his hand up in the air and imitated him. Severus' face burned bright red.

"Now, now, that's enough, Mr Black," Slughorn said airily, before turning to Severus, beaming at him. "One of mine, I believe?"

"I've been Sorted into Slytherin, if that's what you mean, Professor," Severus replied.

"I thought as much," Slughorn said, nodding approvingly. "Severus Snape, I believe? Eileen Prince's boy and the student with the rather troublesome and exotic pet?"

At the mention of both his mother and Muninn, Severus stiffened. He nodded jerkily, unable to bring himself to answer. The man knew far too much about him and his business, he thought grumpily. Maybe Slughorn was the one who wrote the Hogwarts acceptance letters...

"Then I sincerely hope that you possess your mother's rather prodigious talent for Potions, Severus," Slughorn said, eyeing him curiously. "Tell me, Severus," he continued, indicating another cauldron over by Rosier, Wilkes and Avery, "what do you think is in this cauldron?"

Severus had to stand up to get a good view. The whole class had turned to look at him. Fortunately, it once again hearkened back to his mother's frequent weekend potion-brewing sessions. Copious amounts of steam roiled over the brim of the cauldron in waves and it smelled faintly spicy.

"It looks like Mr Hipworth's Pepperup Potion," Severus answered again.

"Very good, very good!" Slughorn cried, beaming. "Not only the name of the potion but the inventor, too! Take ten points for Slytherin, Mr Snape."

The corners of Severus' mouth turned upward ever-so-slightly as Slughorn indicated yet another, final cauldron.

"What about this one, Severus?" Slughorn inquired, looking expectantly at him.

Severus inspected the cauldron's swirling contents. This time, however, he was completely at a loss. He'd never seen anything like it. It was as though Slughorn had stirred a cauldron full of water and then added twenty-odd colours at once. The contents were still spinning and each thread of colour was delicately bright and very much separate from the others.

"I-I'm sorry, but I'm not quite sure what that is," Severus replied quietly, fearing he had lost what favour he had gained in Slughorn's eyes.

To his surprise, Slughorn did not look at all disappointed. Rather, the man waved his hand dismissively and smiled. "Fear not, Mr Snape! I did not really expect you or anyone to know that one."

He turned and addressed the class at large, who were looking on attentively. "This," he announced, "is a rather overlooked little beauty called the Perfect Dream Draught. The name rather gives away the effect of the potion. One glass of this before you head off to bed will result in the drinker having a perfect dream which will last until the sun parts your curtains in the morning."

"Amazing," breathed Isidore Wilkes.

"It will also be the reward of the person who can brew up the most effective Swelling Solution," Slughorn added, tapping his nose conspiratorially. He beamed at the looks of shocked excitement on the faces of his new students. "The instructions are in your textbook and I will being testing your solutions fifteen minutes before the end. You may pick up the ingredients from the front of the classroom and begin when you are ready."

There was a sudden rush for the front of the classroom. Severus remained patient, however, and lit a fire underneath his cauldron first - just as his mother had taught him to do. Then he took his time in searching for the best quality ingredients, rather than grabbing a handful of what was nearest. Lily Evans seemed to be watching him. She lit the fire underneath her cauldron and was paying attention to what sorts of ingredients he chose. Severus was rather annoyed.

"Stop copying me!" he hissed, as he sliced up his puffer-fish eyes.

"Not a chance, Snape," she replied, in a sing-song voice. "You know what it is, and you're a Slytherin so you've probably seen it made. I want a good shot at that Perfect Dream Draught."

Severus narrowed his eyes and resolved to concentrate doubly hard. When time was up, Severus mopped his forehead with a towel, a wide smile on his face. His Swelling Solution looked just as it should. He snuck a look at Evans' effort. To his chagrin, it was rather good. Lily had noticed because she grinned at him.

"Cheater!" he said accusingly.

"Coming from a sneaky Slytherin like you, that's nothing," she countered.

Severus rolled his eyes and presented his Swelling Solution to Slughorn who gave him a wink. A few minutes later, Slughorn brought out a pot full of mushrooms and dropped a miniscule amount of each student's solution onto a mushroom. Some hissed on contact, some sparked, one made the mushroom disintegrate entirely, another did nothing whatsoever, but some students did manage to make their mushroom grow. Severus was one, along with Lily, Evan Rosier, James Potter and Sirius Black. However, the clear winner, Slughorn announced with an approving smile, was Severus. Severus smiled a little as Slughorn handed over a corked vial of the multi-faceted, swirling Perfect Dream Draught and praised the other four close runners-up for their efforts, giving them ten points each for their house.

Just as he had packed up and was about to leave, Slughorn caught his arm.

"I wonder, my dear boy, if you would be up for a little start-of-term party I'm thinking of throwing a few weeks from now," he said. "I'm inviting along a few rising stars and I should very much like you to attend."

Severus blinked owlishly. Both suspicious and flattered, he wasn't quite sure how to answer. "Err... Well, I—"

"Oh come now, Severus!" Slughorn cried. "I know you have no other commitments, as it's only the beginning of term. Say you'll come. You'll be in good company, I assure you!"

Severus sighed inwardly. There was nothing like putting a person on the spot and applying a little well-mannered pressure to make them comply.

"Alright. I'll come, Professor," he said politely. He hoped against hope that he wouldn't regret it.

Slughorn beamed and clapped his hands together. "Wonderful! I'll be expecting you, Severus. Now off you pop!" he added, waving a finger. "You don't want to be late for your next class."

Potions had, indeed went surpassingly well. But there was one lesson he was looking forward to more than anything. And from the looks of things, he wasn't the only one who was excited about Practical Defence. In front, he could hear James Potter telling Remus Lupin how he couldn't wait to start learning how to duel, and Gaspard Shingleton, who was coming up with the Ravenclaws from Charms, was talking to Timothy Stebbins in enthusiastic whispers.

When he approached Sweet's classroom for Practical Defence, he noticed out the corner of his eye that his Slytherin dorm mates were whispering in hushed tones and looking over at him. For a few minutes, he ignored Wilkes' pathetic attempts to catch his eye, before the door opened with a bang. Everyone jumped as Sweet stepped out, surveying his new students with distaste.

"In," he commanded, making a sweeping and imperious gesture with a pale hand.

Severus stepped smartly into the classroom, already all too aware of the Professor's acute dislike for dawdlers. Only a few followed him in, the rest looked at one another warily, unsettled by the man's manner just as Severus had been in the Hospital Wing. As he sat down at a desk, he grinned to himself. Sweet's reaction was just as he had predicted.

"I WILL NOT TELL YOU TWICE!" he bellowed. "IN!"

He had to stifle a smirk as the remaining students hot-footed it into the classroom. As Potter and his cronies passed his desk, he heard Pettigrew passing comment in a whispered undertone to James Potter.

"What's got his wand in a knot?" Pettigrew said, mulishly.

"Nah, Peter, it's not just his wand that's knotted. It's probably that broomstick that got stuck up his arse."

Both of them started sniggering. Severus scowled, and said scowl deepened even further when he saw Avery, Rosier and Wilkes sitting down beside him. Wilkes nodded and smiled hopefully at him, but Severus turned round and rolled his eyes. They weren't getting away with it that easily. Best to let them stew for a while longer. Lily Evans then entered with her friend and they chose two desks right at the front.

As the last of his classmates entered, he risked a quick look around the room. Like much of the wood at Hogwarts, the floor was laid out with great, thick beams of varnished oak. Also, like most of the rooms at Hogwarts, it was surprisingly light and airy, with quite a few tall windows and a high, vaulted ceiling. Unlike most rooms at Hogwarts, however, the oak floor of this one had large, ominous scorch-marks streaked across it. There were several dents in the stonework and chunks were missing from parts of the walls. Judging by the looks on the other students' faces, Severus wasn't the only one to notice. Large objects were rendered shapeless by white dustsheets, and Severus noticed that the only things that appeared to be in regular use were the pupils' desks and that one belonging to Professor Sweet.

The man had sat down in his chair and observed his first-years over steepled fingers that sat lightly upon his chin. Gradually, an eerie silence settled over the whole room as the class began to realise that Sweet was waiting for silence.

"That took far too long," he said, eventually. His voice was low and deadly quiet, and when he spoke, he spoke to a distant point at the back of the room - not looking at his nervous audience, but through them.

"When you enter my classroom, you enter for a purpose. I would gladly spend this first lesson having each and every one of you tell me what that purpose is, though I suspect half of you wouldn't know and your woeful ignorance would be justly exposed for the whole class to see and mock at their leisure..."

Needless to say, Sweet now had the full and undivided attention of the class. Professor McGonagall, most had found out to their cost, was not a woman to cross and Slughorn was able to control a class, that much was evident, but Sweet? Over the course of their first Practical Defence lesson, the students were to discover that Sweet was not a strict disciplinarian - he was an absolute tyrant.

"Get up," he said suddenly, forcefully, slamming his hands down on his desk and making eye contact with his students for the first time. "Get up and stand to the left hand side of your desks. I will not tell you twice."

Everyone did it, including Severus. Sweet did, indeed, not have to tell them twice. He saw Lily Evans cast an apprehensive glance at her friend who returned it with interest. Luckily for them, Sweet didn't notice. Instead, he raised his wand idly and all the desks vanished with a crack. He flicked his wand again and all their bags flew to the back of the room. Everyone was left standing, exposed and completely at a loss.

Then Sweet flew up from his seat and strode into the middle of the floor, his black robes swirling around him like a thunderstorm. He came to an abrupt halt and surveyed his pupils haughtily.

"This is how my lessons will proceed from now on," he said quietly. "This is Practical Defence, ergo, you will need only your wands and your wits. Both, you will find, are excellent tools if you ever find yourself in the rather unfortunate position of having to battle a Dark Wizard."

Severus noted the briefest flash of the wry smile he remembered from last night's Sorting. Then Sweet continued, starting to pace the floor, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Today's lesson will first consist of a demonstration. Then we shall see just how lamentable your duelling skills are. When that has been ascertained, I shall plan your future lessons accordingly..."

After he had finished speaking, Sweet whirled round on his heel to face them. Some students actually flinched. He was smiling now, but it wasn't a nice smile, and Severus, with a horrible, creeping feeling, realised that Sweet was smiling at him.

"You boy. The one from the train," he said imperiously, beckoning with a long finger. "Get up here and stand opposite me."

For a moment, he stood there, rigid. Avery, Rosier and Wilkes all gave him a sympathetic grimace.

_Oh dear god, look at that smile... He's going to murder me!_

Then, as though his legs were on castors, he felt himself moving forward out into the middle of the floor. Everyone was staring at him. He caught a glance of James Potter smirking and giving him the thumbs up. Angrily, he tore his gaze away from the Arch Idiot and focused, instead, on the Arch Fiend he was about to face off against.

Severus turned jerkily to face his opponent. Sweet did likewise and bowed to Severus, observing him with his strange, calculating gaze all the while. Severus did not bow but stared coldly back at him. Then something totally unexpected happened that almost made Severus jump a foot into the air. Sweet started to laugh.

"Did you see that?" he exclaimed, looking both outraged and astounded, his handsome face lit up with an almost manic enthusiasm. "The boy did not observe the niceties! He did not bow! The absolutely perfect response in a real-life duel! You do not give your opponent a _second_ to think—"

Severus fell to the floor as Sweet's jinx came screaming out of nowhere. He heard girls shrieking as a searing crackle of red light went whizzing over his head. It was the Hogwarts Express all over again, although this time there was much more at stake. He wasn't going to be humiliated in front of Potter and his cronies or Rosier and the others. He could feel the wave of anger swelling once again - but this time it was different. It didn't make his mind feel fuzzy. On the contrary, it was cold and it was clear. He knew exactly what to do.

_"PROTEGO!"_ he yelled, as Sweet fired another jinx at him, the deflection buying him enough time to stumble to his feet.

Another jinx hit the floor just where he his foot had been half a second before. This guy was good. Too good. He'd have to end it somehow...

_"EXPELLIARMUS!"_ he yelled frantically.

A jet of light streaked over towards Sweet, who deflected it with a casual air, almost as though he were bored, before he began to stalk towards Severus, his wand raised, intent on finishing the job.

_Over my dead body..._

_"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"_ Sweet cried, swinging his wand up in the air while Severus, simultaneously, hit the floor and screamed, _"CONCIDERO!"_

There was a noise like a scythe swinging through the air, and Severus grinned, satisfied, as Sweet dodged the curse - but only just. His Slashing Hex marked up another notch in the scarred stonework of the room - and _god it was great!_ His heart was thumping in his chest out of the sheer exhilaration of the fight and his knees were throbbing from diving twice to the floor to dodge jinxes, but he didn't care.

There was a sudden round of applause from the Slytherins. The Gryffindors, on the other hand, looked wary. James Potter, he noticed, was looking at him with undisguised contempt. Hah! He was probably just jealous.

"Ha ha! Nice hex, Snape!" he heard Wilkes calling out, though he and the other Slytherins faltered into silence as Sweet raised a pale hand.

The young Professor was observing him again with his strange, searching gaze.

"So that's how Bellatrix Black got her little scar," he whispered in his low voice, looking him up and down, as though seeing him in an entirely new light. "Tell me, boy. What's your name?"

"My name is Snape," he said. "Severus Snape."

For the merest instant, Icarus Sweet froze. He stared at Severus with his blond head tilted to one side, his eyes glittering curiously. Then the fleeting moment passed, and Sweet was acting as though it had never happened. Severus' brows knitted together in puzzlement.

_What the hell was that all about?_

"Everyone pair up," Sweet snapped. "NOW!"

* * *

Later that evening, Severus was in the library frantically looking up information on the Ban on Experimental Breeding Law. His Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Skimmer, was a friend of Newt Scamander and something of an expert on magical creatures. Needless to say, he was very interested in Muninn and asked Severus a lot of probing and unwelcome questions. Severus desperately needed an excuse as to why he had Muninn. His heart leapt when he saw that the law was only established a few years ago.

_So I say I got him when I was little - before the ban came into force. That way, it's not illegal and I won't have him taken away from me._

Relief flooded Severus and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. Muninn was perched on top of the table at his elbow, perusing an article Slughorn had written on Memory Potions.

"There you go," Severus said in an undertone, grinning. "The official line is that you're a dangerous, mutant hybrid - but not illegal because you were born before 1965."

Muninn snorted haughtily. "I shall remember lest any decide to interrogate me."

Severus smirked and went to put the book back on the shelf. But on the way he ran straight into Professor Sweet, knocking the pile of books he was holding to the floor.

"Sorry, Professor," he muttered, scooping up various books on the Theory of Charms and readying himself for a verbal lashing as Sweet dusted himself down.

The reprimand never came, however, as Sweet seemed content to stare at him with his strange, cold eyes. Then, moments later, he smiled a rare smile. If Lily's dorm mates could have seen him now, they would have had a field day. He looked a lot better for it.

"Quite alright, Severus," Sweet replied. "I will forgive you your transgression wholeheartedly if you but confirm the rumour that you will be attending Horace Slughorn's little start-of-term soiree in a few weeks' time."

Severus squirmed uncomfortably. He knew how Sweet felt about Slughorn, and it seemed that whatever he did he was at risk of losing the favour of at least one of the two teachers who actually seemed to like him.

"I'm sorry, Professor," he said quietly. "I've already said yes."

"Let me guess," Sweet said cynically, "Slughorn was quite adamant you attend and wouldn't take no for an answer?"

Severus smiled. "Something like that," he replied.

"What an irritatingly diplomatic reply," Sweet said with a wry smile, stroking his chin as though considering something. He fell silent for a long moment before he spoke again. "Very well then, Severus. Attendance at Slughorn's party might be a necessary evil. Good day to you."

Sweet nodded politely to Severus before turning smartly on his heel and marching over to the lending desk. Severus watched him until he left and then shook his head bemusedly, heading back to where he'd left Muninn.

* * *

A cloud passed over the moon, momentarily shrouding Severus and Muninn in shadow. A chill breeze began to blow, a sign that summer was at an end. Muninn shifted slightly, its scales rubbing roughly against the slates. Then it spoke.

"You are going to Horace Slughorn's party?" the dragon asked.

Severus nodded. "I can't back out now. Everyone expects me to go."

Muninn fell silent for a moment. Then he added, significantly, "Did you know Icarus Sweet is going too?"

At this, Severus threw back his head and laughed. "I think you've made a mistake. Sweet hates Slughorn. He wouldn't go to one of his parties if you paid him."

"I am _never_ mistaken," Muninn said seriously, its eyes narrowed. "I was flying around the castle and I overheard Horace Slughorn telling Albus Dumbledore how happy he was that Sweet had finally given in to his requests and that he'd been waiting for almost twenty years for it."

Severus gaped in astonishment. "You can't be serious?"

"I am," Muninn said gravely.

For a moment, Severus gazed fiercely at the slates under his feet with his head in his hands, trying to put his finger on why exactly Muninn's piece of news was so disturbing.

Then Muninn voiced the thoughts he hadn't dared think himself.

"He is going because you are going. I am sure of it," the dragon said, its bright eyes searching his face.

Severus instantly pushed Muninn's words out of his mind. "I'm a first year student who nearly took his head off with a Slashing Hex," he muttered darkly. "Why would he go just because I'm going?"

"I do not know," Muninn answered candidly. "But I am sure you are the reason he is going."

Irritated, Severus shook his head. "I know you don't like him, Muninn, but I'm already getting a bit fed up with your conspiracy theories. Slughorn probably badgered him so much that he snapped and agreed to go just to get some peace."

"Be careful of him, Severus," Muninn said seriously.

Severus sighed. "Okay, I will," he replied, placating the anxious dragon. "I promise."

This seemed to satisfy Muninn, as it blinked, smiling, and then nudged Severus onto its back. "Where would you like to go tonight?" it asked.

"Will the Hebridean Blacks still be at that mountain?" Severus asked eagerly. "I want to see them again. All those dragons flying around together like that - it was bloody spectacular!"

Muninn laughed. "I am glad to see you find my kind so fascinating. Very well then, Severus. We shall go visit the _swearthæwena_. Are you comfortable?"

"Yes, yes, I'm comfortable and I'm holding on tight!" Severus said impatiently. "Let's go!"

Muninn nodded and dissolved into thin air as they began their thundering ascent, flying above the silver lining of the clouds and up further to bathe in the gentle, sparkling light of the moon and stars on the way to watch, from a safe distance, the annual meeting of the world's most ancient weyr of dragons.

Severus didn't know this, however, and was merely content to sit for a blessed moment and observe without analysing anything. Best of all, it meant he could forget for a while. And as he watched the beautiful black dragons greeting one another in the frosty air and conversing in their strange tongue - a few snippets of which he could now pick up - he smiled a genuine, unadulterated smile. If he could leave Hogwarts and write books on dragons for a living, he thought, then he would be one happy wizard.

* * *

Here is a link to a picture of how I (roughly) imagine Sweet to look: http/ Yes, the link gives it away. Sweet is a bit of a tribute to one of my favourite fictional characters (besides Snape): Charlotte Bronte's St John Rivers. He's similar to Rivers in a lot of ways - but with one crucial difference. I'll leave you to speculate on what that difference is. 

Once again, thanks for all the support. This story, odd as it may seem, does mean rather a lot to me. It's the first time I've ever really put my heart and soul into a chaptered fic. Who knows? I might even be able to do it again with an original piece! (crosses fingers)


	7. Chapter 7

Birch Wood and Dragon Heartstring, 11¾ Inches

* * *

AN: First thing's first, it must be stated categorically that Birgit rules. She is the best and she is brilliant - and all positive adjectives beginning with "B" can be applied to her without hesitation. In fact, every positive adjective of any letter of any alphabet can be applied to this most brilliant of betas. 

Cheers to Iva and featherxquill for the reviews (I am a Brit, featherquill XD) for chapter six. Elain: I had no idea what you were saying, but for some strange reason, I don't think it was anything good...

But tis time for the party! What will Sweet do, the pretty, reclusive, nutjob that he is? Read on to find out!

* * *

It was the night of Professor Slughorn's long-awaited party and Severus arrived at the Potions Master's office at half-past seven with Evan Rosier and a crowd of older Slytherins, including the Black sisters and Lucius Malfoy. He was with the group because for the past couple of weeks they had all been suspiciously nice to him. Not nice in a honest and friendly way, like Lily Evans was, but nice in that they were sucking up. He knew fine well that they still looked down on him because of his half-blood status, but because he was useful, because they were scared of Muninn, and because he wouldn't be bullied, they would "put up" with it. 

Severus sighed inwardly as he was again dragged into conversation with Malfoy. The prefect was asking questions about Professor Sweet. It was no secret that Severus was Sweet's favourite student and that the man favoured him, turning a blind eye on one occasion when he hexed Remus Lupin so badly in a Practical Defence lesson that he had to go to the Hospital Wing - an incident that had cemented his reputation as being "up to his armpits in the Dark Arts." Little did they know. But Severus didn't give the older boy the satisfaction and rebuffed his every attempt at wrangling information out of him. To Severus' relief, Malfoy eventually gave up and instead turned the conversation around to hexes, a subject Severus was ready and willing to discuss.

When they arrived at Slughorn's office, Andromeda Black, who had remained uncomfortably silent for most of the way, broke off from the group to join her boyfriend, the Muggleborn Gryffindor, Ted Tonks. Bellatrix loudly and viciously voiced her contempt and swept inside, with Malfoy and Narcissa following behind. Rosier cast an amused glance at Severus, shrugged his shoulders, and went inside. Severus walked in after him.

Slughorn had went all out in decorating his office for the party - and it was much bigger than Severus remembered it, having been magically expanded to fit the many witches and wizards the Professor had invited. It looked rather like a huge, medieval tent - the ones that kings would use while on Crusade. Sheets of blue and gold silk marked with the fleur-de-lis draped down from the ceiling. The party-goers sat in circles of huge blue and gold cushions while being served goblets of wine by house-elves. There was music coming from somewhere in the middle of the room. Someone was playing the piano. Not one to pass up an opportunity when he saw it coming along, Severus grabbed a goblet of wine from a passing house-elf and made for the source of the music.

People had gathered around the piano player. It was no wonder, for whoever it was was really rather good, even though the piece was a little too slow and too mournful for Severus' taste. Severus saw Professor McGonagall with the tiny Professor Flitwick, nodding approvingly and tapping her foot in time to the music. The Headmaster was also there, standing right at the instrument, leaning on it, with his chin resting on his hand, his blue eyes staring into a distant and private place as he listened intently to the melody washing over him.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the music ended. The player stood up and bowed politely as his audience applauded. Severus recognised the golden-haired figure immediately.

"Bravo, Icarus," Dumbledore exclaimed, clapping enthusiastically.

Sweet nodded and graciously accepted the Headmaster's praise. Then he turned around and caught Severus' eye.

"Excuse me," Severus heard him say, as the manoeuvred his way through the throng towards him.

"I never knew you could play the piano, Professor," Severus said as Sweet reached him.

Sweet smiled his wry smile and replied, "Well, I never told you, and you never asked. But what is this?" he asked, frowning slightly as he discovered the large goblet of wine in Severus' hand.

"It's a goblet of elf-made wine, Professor," Severus retorted, with an incline of his head. "I've never tried it before and this is probably the one and only chance I'll get for a while. And I figured if things go badly here, then at least I'll have it to keep me company."

This comment made Sweet laugh, and a few turned around and looked curiously at this unexpected phenomenon.

"I dare say you're right, Severus. But nevertheless..." he said as he deftly plucked the wine from Severus' hand, placed it down on a tray and picked up one for himself. "You're far too young to be going down that route. You should have at least another ten years before you feel the need to hit the bottle. Oh dear god—"

In a heartbeat, Sweet's expression changed from quietly amiable to openly hostile as Horace Slughorn approached with Professor Skimmer and a man he didn't recognise. Severus smirked as he noticed Sweet take a few hasty swigs of his wine.

"Good evening, Icarus, Severus," Slughorn began jovially, completely unfazed by Sweet's frosty demeanour. "Inigo Skimmer I'm sure you both know already—" the wiry, red-haired DADA Professor nodded genially, "—but Newt Scamander, I don't think either of you will have met? _Fantastic Beasts_ has reached its fifteenth edition only recently. Isn't that marvellous?"

A stout, cheerful-looking man with a large moustache stepped forward and shook first Sweet's and then Severus' hand. "Icarus and I have met before," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "We were both guest speakers at the Heidelberg Dark Arts conference a few years ago. If my memory serves me correctly, Mr Sweet delivered a rather brilliant paper on the role of the mind in spell-casting. It has certainly changed the way I cast."

The corners of Sweet's mouth turned up ever-so-slightly. "Thank you, Mr Scamander," he said graciously, bowing his head. "It's an honour."

"Not at all, dear boy," Scamander exclaimed with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You've got a good head on your shoulders. You'll be outselling me in a few years."

Then Scamander smiled and turned his attention to Severus, who had to fight to restrain himself from spluttering an excuse and running off to sit quietly in a corner where no one would bother him. "Who have we got here, Horace? Another of your rising stars?"

"Ahhhh, Newt, this young man is Severus Snape," Slughorn informed him as he lifted a pork pie from a passing tray. "One of my lot. Eileen Prince's boy. He has her talent for Potions. A natural, just like Miss Evans."

Skimmer and Scamander both made approving noises as they looked over their shoulders at the pretty, red-headed girl who was scowling darkly at James Potter and Sirius Black.

"Eileen Prince, eh?" Professor Skimmer said, eyeing Severus curiously. "I remember her. A few years below me at Hogwarts. Slytherin house, I think. Good at Gobstones, too."

"Oh yes, of course, Inigo. I'm so glad you remember," Slughorn said. "She was definitely one of mine. Couldn't have been prouder. I had her all set up for a very prestigious research apprenticeship at the Potioneers' Society." Slughorn sighed deeply and shook his head, fixing Icarus Sweet with a strange look, adding pointedly, "Alas, it was not to be!"

All present turned to look at the young Professor. Scamander's and Skimmer's were looks of polite inquiry. Severus' look, however, was curious and calculating. Slughorn had implied something when he mentioned his mother - there was no mistake about that. Judging from the look on Sweet's face, he knew it too. An ugly flush of red had crept onto the young man's pale cheeks, and he had drawn himself up, trembling slightly. His reaction, when it came, shocked even Severus.

"How dare you..." Sweet began with a fierce whisper, staring down his nose at Slughorn with a look that seemed remarkably like hatred. "How _dare_ you! You invite me here, you harass and harangue me for twenty years _just so you can insult me?_"

Instinctively, Severus took a step back. He'd never seen Sweet so angry before. Well, he'd seen him angry when he was shouting and bawling at pupils in his class - that was routine. But this was different. Sweet looked as though he was ready to hex the Potions Master until he was crawling on all fours to Dumbledore with feelers sprouting out of his head.

Slughorn, on the other hand, seemed remarkably composed, looking like the Kneazle who had not only got the cream, but the canary and the pet hamster to boot. All around them, people were beginning to stare. Dumbledore, with his uncanny instinct for detecting trouble brewing, was making his way through the crowd.

_And thank god for that! Sweet's going to kill something._

"Now, now, Icarus," Slughorn said, with a placid smile. "You don't want to cause a scene. Not in front of all these people. Not in front of young Severus—"

"If you dare imply— If you ever mention her in front of me again, Horace, so help me god—"

"Gentlemen," Dumbledore said, announcing his presence with a hint of warning in his tone. "May I ask what is going on?"

The Headmaster's question, however, went unanswered, and his attempt to diffuse the boiling tension between the Head of Slytherin House and his youngest member of staff failed miserably.

"Imply?" Slughorn exclaimed, his eyes widening in protest of his proclaimed innocence. "My dear Icarus, I was merely passing comment on the fact that I deeply regretted Miss Prince not having taken up my offer. A tragic waste of talent—"

_Tragic waste?_

"Excuse me," Severus said icily, the anger rising, bristling at the allusion that his mother had wasted her life just because she hadn't joined some stupid Potioneers' Society. "My mother didn't waste her talent."

For one moment, Slughorn looked taken aback. He hadn't expected Severus' intrusion into his little mind game with Sweet, and appeared to have genuinely forgotten he was there.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Severus," he exclaimed, patting him on the shoulder. "I didn't mean—"

"Shut up, Horace!" Sweet hissed suddenly, venomously, his blue eyes burning with a cold and calculated fury. "Shut your fat, ignorant mouth." Then he turned and addressed Severus, his voice quavering with alien emotion. "The man means everything he said, Severus. He believes your mother wasted her life. And I have nothing more to say to him."

Sweet turned and, with what appeared to take enormous effort, he inclined his head politely to Scamander, Skimmer and Dumbledore before sweeping away through the crowd, who gave him a wide berth. All eyes fell immediately upon Slughorn, who shook his head sadly and lifted a goblet of mead from a tray.

"Always was a rather strange young man," he announced, with a vague wave of his hand. "Handsome - and very talented, there's no doubt about that. Technically, he should have everything going for him. But he has absolutely no idea how to interact with other human beings." Slughorn sighed. "It _is_ rather a shame. If only I'd got to him sooner—"

Suddenly, there was a bang as the door to Slughorn's office was kicked open and a whirlwind of black robes advanced towards their group at speed. Sweet was back, and his heels clicked determinedly as he advanced across the floor, his mouth curling up at one side as he reached in the folds of his robes for his wand.

"No. I've decided..." Sweet said, his voice dangerously soft, his eyes glittering with malice, "... you're not getting away with it that easily."

There was a split second where Slughorn dropped his goblet and attempted to reach for his wand, but Sweet was too quick. There was a searing flash of light and the next minute, Sweet had bound the Potions Master in the silk drapes like a helpless fly caught in the snare of a waiting spider. Dragging Slughorn behind him, he sprinted out the door before Dumbledore could counteract the spell.

Severus made to run after Sweet, but Dumbledore held him back.

"Stay here, Severus," he said gently but firmly, in a tone that would brook no refusal, before he went after Sweet with Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Skimmer hot on his heels.

* * *

On Monday, the first years trudged along to Professor Sweet's Practical Defence class to find that the rumours were true: it had been cancelled. Most of them showed their relief by skipping down the Great Hall for an early lunch with great whoops and cheers. Severus, however, feeling troubled, went to the place he always went if he was out of sorts. Sitting down at a desk near the Restricted Section in the library, he opened a book on basic Transfiguration and closed it with a sigh, unable to concentrate. 

"You'd better get reading that, Snape, or McGonagall will have your head," Lily Evans' voice came singing from behind him.

As unlikely as it seemed, Severus Snape and Lily Evans had struck up a casual friendship of sorts. It had begun as an intellectual arrangement - both sides benefiting mutually from it. Every week or so, they would meet in the library and check one another's essays. Severus, having no patience for Transfiguration, would give his homework to Lily to check, and in turn, he would go over Lily's work for Potions. Their combined pursuit of knowledge had evolved gradually into a friendship characterised by a great deal of sarcastic banter and good-natured teasing.

"Spare me, Evans. I'm not in the mood," he retorted wearily as she sat down across from him with a thud.

Lily studied his face for a moment and seemed to find something amiss. "What's wrong, Severus?" she asked, her eyes alight with concern.

"This may sound a bit strange, what with general opinion running against him and all," Severus began curtly, "but I'm worried about Professor Sweet."

Lily nodded seriously. "Yeah, you are his favourite student," she mused. "His only favourite student, I think, so I can imagine you would be, even though I think he's—"

"Yes, yes, I know!" Severus interrupted her angrily. "You think he's a flaming nutter! You and the rest of the bloody school!"

"Well, the fact that McGonagall almost had to call Ministry—"

The gossip of what had happened that night at the party had spread round the school like wildfire. Sweet had apparently dragged Slughorn up to Ravenclaw Tower and had dangled him over the edge, screaming at him like a lunatic. Dumbledore had tried to calm him down, but it was only when Professor McGonagall had threatened to call the Magical Law Enforcement squad that Sweet released the Potions Master. Contrary to popular opinion (which expected, nay demanded, that Sweet be dismissed), Dumbledore did not sack his youngest and most volatile staff member, but instead suspended him from teaching for two weeks and ordered that both Slughorn and Sweet stay as far away from each other as possible. Naturally, because Severus' mother had been mentioned somewhere along the line, people had assumed he'd been involved somehow. He'd had to put up with getting very odd looks from people all weekend, and had set Muninn on a gaggle of gawping Ravenclaw idiots, which had earned him his first detention.

Therefore, Severus gave Lily a stare that said "if you bring it all up again, I'll never forgive you."

Lily took the hint and shook her head, an amused smile playing around the corners of her mouth. "Look, Snape," she said frankly. "If you're that worried about Professor Sweet, then go see him,"

Severus looked aghast at the audacity of Lily's suggestion.

"He won't throw a hissy fit at you if _you_ go up and visit him," Lily continued, reading Severus' thoughts and laughing at the stricken look on his face. "He thinks you're brilliant. Everyone knows that. He might even be grateful for some company," she added, though her face betrayed doubt.

For a while, Severus thought about it. He was sure Lily was right. He didn't think Sweet would start throwing things at him if he went along to see if he was okay. Besides, there was still that allusion to his mother Slughorn made the other night - the one that had set Sweet off with such spectacular results. It had been niggling away at the back of his mind ever since the party. Yes. He would go and see Professor Sweet.

"Alright then. I'm going," Severus announced, packing up his books in his bag. "If Muninn comes looking for me, tell him I'll either be in Sweet's office or in the Great Hall."

Lily looked puzzled. "Tell Muninn?" she asked incredulously.

_Bugger..._

"Yes," he replied, sounding more composed than he felt, having almost given away the fact that Muninn could not only understand English, but could also speak it - and other languages - perfectly well. "Just tell him if you see him. He'll understand what you're saying."

"Okay," Lily said slowly, laughing and looking at him in a curious way. "I'll tell him. And I'll look over this for you," she added, waving his Transfiguration essay at him. "You'd better get my Potions effort back to me tomorrow, or else!"

Severus rolled his eyes and nodded, before heading up towards Ravenclaw Tower to look for Sweet. But no sooner had he set foot near the place, than he heard a set of unfortunately familiar and very unwelcome voices talking quickly in hushed whispers. He ducked round a corner and stood perfectly still as Sirius Black, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew walked past.

"Don't know what's wrong with him," he heard James say concernedly. "He looked really ill, but that doesn't explain why we couldn't visit him last night."

Sirius nodded in agreement, a frown passing over his handsome face like a shadow. "And he looked really beaten up this morning. Scratches everywhere. As if he'd been in a fight with a werewolf, or something."

"We should go see him again tonight," Peter suggested. "We could sneak up later when everyone's asleep."

"Good idea, Peter—" James said, before stopping short at the sight of Severus leaning against the wall, his eyes narrowing.

"Nosy git," he said, fixing Severus with the look of pure loathing he reserved specially for his hated Slytherin enemy. "What're you all about, listening in to our conversation like that? You got nothing better to do?"

"Believe me, Potter, I have no desire to breathe the same air as you, let alone eavesdrop on your scintillating conversation," Severus retorted acidly. "It just so happens I was heading along here and in a vain attempt to spare myself from being subjected to the hideousness that is your stupid, smug face, I stood here, hoping the horror would pass me by. How wrong I was..."

Sirius smirked, and cocked his head insolently to one side, a strand of dark hair falling over his face. "You know, what, Snape? I think you're afraid we'll gang up on you without your mad dragon to help you. I think you're scared we'll do the same to you as we did to your stupid mate, Avery."

Severus scowled defiantly, although part of what Black had said was true, and he hated him for it. A few days ago, Avery had got into a fight with Pettigrew in Herbology - and Potter, Black and Lupin had come to the whimpering drudge's rescue. Avery had been sent flying over the hedge with a spectacular hex they'd learnt in Sweet's class and had smacked his head on the reinforced glass of Greenhouse Four. This had earned all three offending Gryffindors detention (and Avery a trip to the Hospital Wing) but since then, they'd been travelling around in their detestable little pack, with Potter and Black hexing anyone who so much as looked at them the wrong way.

Sirius drew his wand. Behind him, James smirked and did the same. Pettigrew leaned back and appeared to be readying himself for a showdown. Severus looked from Black to Potter, his dark eyes darting calculatingly from one to the other. Then, in a flash, he whipped out his wand and cried, "_Expelliarmus!_"

Both Sirius' and James' wands flew from their hands, but as Severus caught Black's swiftly in an outstretched hand, James, with lightning reflexes, snatched his from the air and countered with a spell of his own before Severus had time to react.

"_Scourgify!_" he shouted.

The next minute, Severus felt as though he was going to throw up and choke at the same time as foul, soapy froth gargled up from the back of his throat, filling his mouth, stopping him breathing. He fell to his knees, coughing and spluttering violently. He could hear Potter and Pettigrew laughing in the background. Black shouted, "Nice one, James. He could be doing with a good scrub." This elicited another round of laughter. Then the red mist descended and Severus, focusing wholly and entirely on the spell he was about to perform, rose a shaky hand and pointed his wand at Sirius Black. He wasn't about to lie down at the feet of the Arch Idiot and be humiliated by his sidekick. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to cause Black the greatest amount of pain imaginable.

_Concidero!_ he thought with all his might.

There was a noise like metal cutting through air followed by a shocked hiss of someone drawing breath sharply. Blood spattered in an arc across the opposite wall. There was a cry of outrage and he felt himself being hauled up roughly by the collar. The bubbles were still frothing from his mouth, making him gag, and his face felt as though it was on fire.

"You're a nutter," James hissed into his ear. "And you're disgusting. Don't think I don't know what kind of stuff all you Slytherins are into. You make me sick—"

"James! Whoa, mate!" Sirius voice called out in warning.

James Potter whirled round, with Severus still spluttering in his grip, to find himself face to face with Professor Sweet. Instantly, with a jolt of pain, Severus felt his knees hit the floor. The bubbles stopped and he gasped for breath. Sweet had his wand drawn and had stepped forward out from the shadows, observing the Gryffindor boys with an unsettling impassivity. The young Professor looked different from usual today, but that was probably because he had forsaken his academic robes in favour of a greyish blue frock-coat, with a white starched shirt and neck-tie and neatly pressed trousers. The effect amounted to something altogether less aesthetically severe, but the look in the man's eyes quashed all such superficial fancies.

"What are you doing here, Severus? Shouldn't you be at lunch?" Sweet asked quietly, not taking his eyes off Potter and his cronies.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Severus replied, his voice hoarse from coughing and his face going red from the admission he was about to make. "But I... I came to talk to you."

Sweet stared at him curiously for a moment, then turned back to Potter, Pettigrew and Black.

"There will be fifty points missing from the Gryffindor hourglass by the time you return to the Great Hall," he said coldly. "You will also serve a weekend's detention each, separately, and with me. Now get out of my sight."

Without another word, Potter, Black and Pettigrew headed off downstairs towards the Great Hall - but not before Black threw Sweet a startlingly filthy glare. Sweet ignored it, and continued to watch them, his blue eyes boring into the backs of their heads, until they rounded the corner and were out of sight. Then he turned on his heel and marched down the corridor, motioning Severus to follow him. He unlocked a door about halfway down and stepped though. A little bemused, Severus entered behind him.

Sweet's office was not what he had expected. For some reason, he was looking for a sparse and inhospitable environment: bricked-up windows, the only light coming from an oil-burning lamp or two; dusty tomes piled high in bookshelves; a few ancient, battered pieces of furniture arranged solemnly upon the floor - that sort of thing.

Instead he emerged into a light, airy room with an oak floor and tall windows. White curtains stretched down to gently brush the boards, and the sun streamed in. There were lots of books, but only a few remained in their bookcases. The rest of them were stacked high in teetering piles around Sweet's ridiculously messy desk, looking as though they were consulted on a regular basis. There was a beautiful rosewood piano in the centre of the room and a gramophone next to it, which was surrounded by a scattering of records, among them reading: Scarlatti, J. S. Bach, Handel, Purcell, Haydn, Beethoven, Mozart. Some of the names were vaguely familiar to Severus - classical composers, he mused - though he had never listened to any of them before. His dad was more into the Beatles and the Stones, so his exposure to music had been pretty much limited to what his dad tuned into on the wireless.

"You like it?" Sweet asked with a smile, indicating the piano.

"Yes, it's beautiful," Severus answered truthfully. "I was looking at your records, too. You like your classical music, don't you?"

Sweet nodded. Then he walked over to the piano and sat down, flicking out his coattails as he did so before conjuring a seat and a cup of tea for Severus. Severus accepted it gratefully and sat down and watched, enthralled, as the young Professor began to play.

It was a more cheerful melody than the one he'd played at Slughorn's disastrous gathering: quick, sharp and jaunty with lots of clashing chords. Sweet made a few mistakes, but every time he did, he just blinked, smiled a little and soldiered on. Not that it mattered to Severus. He didn't notice and thought it was wonderful. When Sweet finished, Severus gave him a tentative round of applause, which made his favourite Professor laugh.

"You're a first year and already you're patronising me," he said with a shake of his head. "That was a lamentable performance. I'm afraid I'm no professional."

Severus shrugged. "I couldn't tell," he replied, honestly. "It was good. You're very good."

It was Sweet's turn to shrug. "My mother and father thought it prudent that my sisters should pursue suitable social accomplishments, and they hounded them ceaselessly to learn an instrument," he said with his wry smile. "Ironically, I was the one who was most keen to learn. As soon as they left Hogwarts, my sisters stopped completely, but I carried on," he finished, playing a little chord.

"Could you teach me?" Severus asked impulsively, regretting it instantly.

He blinked and shook his head, muttering something that passed for an apology, and looked away, cursing himself for being so damned forward.

Sweet observed him solemnly for a moment, a thin finger tracing his lips, before he smiled and said, in a low voice, "Will you be willing to practise? You should know well enough by now that I don't suffer fools gladly."

Severus swallowed and nodded quickly.

"Excellent," Sweet said, turning again to the piano and starting to play while continuing his conversation. "That's all I needed to hear. Oh, and while you've agreed to take piano lessons, I would also be willing give you some pointers on helping improve your hexes," he added slyly. "I believe there are a few young Gryffindorian men of your acquaintance who need taking down a peg or three?"

This remark made Severus positively glow.

"Of course, Professor," he said happily. "I'd be only too glad—"

He trailed off, noticing that Sweet had stopped playing and had fixed his cool gaze upon one of the tall windows.

"Your dragon is floating just outside my window," Sweet said quietly. "I don't think it's very happy about you being here."

Severus' head whipped round. Sure enough, Muninn was there, hovering effortlessly in mid-air, its eyes narrowed to slits. Sweet was right. Muninn didn't look _at all_ happy. Lily must have been true to her word and told the dragon where he was. His stomach tied itself into a guilty knot.

"It isn't," Severus said, as he stood up and threw his bag over his shoulder. "It still hates you for getting it with the Binding Curse on the train, I think."

"I see," Sweet said thoughtfully, falling into a long silence, his eyes still locked upon the dragon.

"Errr..." Severus began, when Sweet showed no signs of surfacing from his reverie, "When should I—?"

"Thursday afternoon when you're timetabled for Practical Defence," Sweet interrupted, anticipating his question. "I'm not doing much, anyway," he added sardonically, before he resumed his curious staring match with Muninn.

* * *

Muninn was waiting for him, perched rigidly upon the statue of Hesper Starkey when he neared the entrance to the Slytherin common room. As soon as he opened his mouth to tell Muninn to shut up - because he knew what it was going to say - Muninn went ahead anyway and said what Severus knew it was going to say. This made Severus angry, and the fact that he had told the dragon to shut up made it angry too. It wasn't long before the two were locked in a fierce, furious whispering match. 

"Don't know why you're so worked up about it!" Severus hissed, waving his hands in the air. "Oh no, wait, I do—"

"It is _nothing_ to do with the train, Severus," Muninn spat, its blue eyes flashing. "He wants something from you, of that I am sure! I know what happened at Horace Slughorn's party. I know what made Icarus Sweet do what he did. Horace Slughorn mentioned your mother and Icarus Sweet was ashamed—!" At this, Severus opened his mouth to protest in outrage, but Muninn overrode him. "When your mother was mentioned, something he did, something Icarus Sweet did to her made him ashamed. He could not face being exposed, and so he silenced Horace Slughorn."

Severus had been listening to Muninn, his head cocked sceptically to one side, his arms folded in stony silence.

"Alright," he conceded, his voice dangerously quiet, "you have a point. I'll admit it. I can't say that I wasn't thinking along the same lines. But if I'm going to find out, then what better way to do it than to have an excuse to go up to his office every week?"

Muninn said nothing. Severus, it appeared, was victorious. But before he could gloat, Wilkes appeared round the corner.

"Alright, Snape?" Wilkes called out excitedly, until he spotted Muninn and stopped short.

"_Be careful of him,_" Muninn insisted, its words entering Severus' thoughts for only him to hear, before fluttering down to land on his shoulders in order to glare at Isidore Wilkes.

"Wilkes," Severus replied, acknowledging his fellow first year by inclining his head.

"Err... yes," Wilkes began hesitantly, his eyes locked on Muninn. "Bellatrix— Bellatrix Black has some news. She asked specifically that you come to hear it. Evan and Dunstan are already inside—"

_Not again._

"Fine, fine!" Severus said, waving a hand irritably. "I'll come and listen to Bellatrix Black ranting on about Mudbloods for the umpteenth time. I was just about to go in, anyway."

"Alihotsy!" he snapped, and the stone door slid open.

He strode past Wilkes with Muninn wrapped around his shoulders and emerged into the Slytherin common room. The place was normally welcoming and comfortable (if never quite cosy) and there was always something of interest going on, whether it was Lucius Malfoy talking politics, or just a group of students discussing the day's lessons. Today, it was different. In the middle of the room, her proud figure silhouetted in the firelight, surrounded by Slytherins young and old, sat Bellatrix Black. Her grey eyes glittered as she regaled her captivated audience with what appeared to be a scintillating tale. It wasn't her usual Mudblood rant, that was for sure.

At the sound of his approach, Bellatrix looked up and caught his eye. Everyone turned to stare. With a sharp smile, she nodded and gestured to an empty seat. A cold sensation flooded the pit of Severus' stomach.

_They've kept that seat for me..._

Trying not to look afraid, Severus nodded graciously at the older Slytherin girl and took his seat. Wilkes stood behind him, leaning on the high-back of the chair.

_What's the hell's going on? Well whatever it is, it's big. It must be, to have everyone here like this..._

It wasn't long before he found out.

Bellatrix resumed her story, adopting a strangely awed, hushed tone Severus had never heard her use before. Her pale face was flushed and she trembled slightly as she spoke.

"I came into his presence," she whispered, as though speaking in a sacred place. "I came into his presence and almost wept at his feet. The man - no, for he is much, much more than a man - our Saviour, the one who will cleanse our world and rid us of the pestilence of Mudbloods, was standing before me. As I knelt in the darkness before him, he spoke of what wonders he could teach me, of all I could learn under his watchful eye far from the clutches of the Old Fool. He told me that with my help, he could once again raise our families to the glorious position they once rightly occupied, to force the wizarding world to recognise and to respect our birthright, our superiority. He told me all this, and at once I knew that I was destined to follow him. The Dark Lord. Lord Voldemort. Our leader. Our Saviour."

"You met him?" Severus heard Rosier gasp in awe, the fire cracking and spitting in the background.

"Yes, little cousin," Bellatrix replied with an elated smile. "I have met him. Rodolphus has met him, and we have joined with him."

There was a sudden frission around the circle of Slytherins - of what Severus did not know. Was it excitement? Perhaps apprehension? Or both at once? Severus didn't know what the rest of his House thought, but he knew how he felt. He felt sick.

Wilkes clapped him on the back and whispered "Now that's something, eh, Snape?" but Severus couldn't bring himself to answer. He just nodded mutely and, after mumbling his congratulations in Bellatrix's general direction, he made an excuse about being tired and having a headache, and then headed to his bed as though in a daze. He didn't care when he saw the looks the others gave him, when he heard the whispers following him out of the common room.

When he reached his bed, he ripped the curtains back angrily, closed them, and threw himself onto the mattress, burying his head in his pillows.

"What is wrong, Severus?" he heard Muninn ask gently.

Severus sniffed a little. Angry tears threatened at the corners of his eyes. He had grown so used to the dragon perching on his shoulders he'd forgot it was there.

"Why was I Sorted into Slytherin?" he whispered, his voice quavering. "All this talk about cleansing the wizarding world of Mudbloods and Muggles and... and _blood-traitors_ - it's making me ill!

I mean, why do they follow him? WHY? I know they don't know - and I'm glad they don't know - but it was his fault. He was the one who hurt mum. It was him... It was him and his followers..."

Then the tears that had been threatening to fall earlier finally spilled onto his pillow. Severus wept quietly for a while, his small shoulders shaking with fury and grief at the injustice of it all. He choked back a sob as he felt Muninn nuzzle its delicate head under his chin in an attempt to comfort him. It didn't really work, but Severus appreciated it nonetheless. For a very long time, Severus just lay there on his back upon his bed, stroking Muninn's soft, blue mane, staring into space.

He didn't attend any more of his classes that day. Or the day after that.

* * *

_AN: Yes, Sweet plays the piano. He would be a Hogwarts pin-up if he only he could resist the temptation to AK the photographer and along with the poor sod who would dare suggest a photoshoot. Yes, he is a complete and utter nutter. And I like him like that. grin _

_I've given you the jist of what happened to Severus' mum. You'll find out exactly what happened and the effects of it in the next chapter. _

_Once again, cheers for all your support, guys. Your reviews mean a lot to me. _

_Chapter eight: Severus goes nuts! Angst and nasty thoughts abound - be warned! T'will be dark. _


	8. Chapter 8

Birch-Wood and Dragon-Heartstring, 11 and ¾ Inches

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AN: Birgit is the best. She got this back to me really quickly even though she was run off her feet, she was so busy (and she saw through my laziness, too, for which I was duly shamed). She really is the best beta in the world,and I'm so lucky to have someone so suited to the way I write. 

About chapter eight: There's one swear. Nothing at all heinous. The general tone is rather dark, though - even more so than I originally intented it to be. So if you're looking for some good, rollicking Severus angst, you've come to the right place this time round. P

This chapter also has a dedication: It is dedicated to Anya, for she is going places in more ways than one.

Cheers also to Anya and Reesie (from the SQ) for admitting they have a crush on Icarus Sweet. He shall learn and play you a piano piece each of your choosing. Thanks also to Dogstar, Falling Damps and Whimsy (also from the SQ) - because they just rock.

Thanks also go out to everyone from fanfiction dot net for your continued support!

If you would leave a review - that would be nice.

Cheers, guys.

* * *

It was the summer after Severus' first year at Hogwarts. He'd been away for only two weeks and already he was suffering from a severe bout of chronic boredom. Muninn had gone out for the morning, and the only way he could amuse himself was by shooting down the flies that were circling over his bed. Then his dad had knocked on the door and had poked his head round, his coat draped over his arm, even though the weather was stifling. 

He'd said, with a grin, "Get your coat, lad, you've pulled. I'm taking you out somewhere nice."

Severus had rolled his eyes at his dad's vain attempt at humour, but welcomed any potential distraction.

"Nice?" he'd said, raising an eyebrow and pushing himself up on his elbows. "You'd better not be talking about 'nice' as in going down the pub and watching the Sheffield United match?"

"Nope. Even better," his father had replied. "We're going to see your mother. So hop to it, lad!"

And so it was that Severus found himself sitting at his mother's bedside in the Long-Term Residents' Ward at Saint Mungo's, feeling nervous. His father had brought fresh flowers and replaced the old, withered ones with a bunch of bright, yellow daffodils.

"Your mother's favourite," he said, with a fond smile, as he placed them in a vase.

Severus' jaw went oddly rigid at his father's casual remark, and he suddenly hated him for saying it. His face felt uncomfortably tight and the corners of his eyes began to sting. He sat and stared at his knees so that no one would notice the look on his face, which he was sure would give him away in an instant. The thought of being mollycoddled and pitied again by the irritatingly jovial Healer Chesterton only stiffened his resolve and made him stare harder.

Then, as if just thinking about the cursed man made him pop into being, Healer Chesterton strode through the door with a good-natured smile on his round, moustachioed face.

"Why, hello, Eileen!" he boomed, raising his hands in the air as though he hadn't seen her in years. "How are we today?"

Eileen Snape smiled vaguely and patted Severus on the hand (which made his stomach do a funny, little flip). "Hello, Gilbert," she replied. "My son's here today, you know."

"Is he, indeed?" Chesterton said, with mock surprise. Turning to Severus, he inclined his head politely. "A pleasure you see you again, young Master Snape, and yourself, of course, Tobias."

Severus nodded politely, as did his father.

"Now give me a shout if you need anything," Healer Chesterton said cheerfully, giving his little, oval spectacles a push up onto the bridge of his nose. "I'll only be next door—"

Tobias Snape coughed furtively. "Can I have a word, Healer Chesterton?" he muttered, determined not to catch his son's eye.

"Of course, Mr Snape," the Healer replied graciously, gesturing towards the door. "Shall we?"

Both gentlemen's heads whipped round at the sound of Severus' voice. It was low and quiet, and his head was bowed as he held his mother's hand in his. He said, "Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of me."

There was a prolonged, tense moment of silence before Tobias Snape's face hardened. "You'll stay here and talk to your mother," he barked, in a tone that would brook no argument from his son. "God knows, you'll have enough stuff to talk about, what with you being away for half the year at Hogwarts." Then he swept outside without another word - Healer Chesterton following close behind.

"Stupid old bastard," Severus hissed darkly, glowering beneath his curtain of black hair.

"Hmmm?"

Severus looked up instantly at the sound of his mother's voice. She was looking at him inquiringly, her large, dark eyes regarding him with a childlike innocence. At once, Severus felt ashamed and turned to her.

"Hi, Mum," he said with a smile, managing to force it out despite the lump in his throat. "How've you been?"

"I'm fine, Severus," she said serenely, reaching out a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her son's ear. "Though I've missed you. Where were you?"

Her words made Severus feel as though someone had punched him in the stomach.

_She's not getting better at all..._

"Didn't Dad tell you?" he asked quietly, cradling his mother's hand in his. "I've been at Hogwarts for the past year or so."

His mother looked puzzled for a moment, and then something appeared to dawn, for the ghost of a smile lit her pallid features.

"I remember," she said proudly. "I went there too, you know. I was in Slytherin. Icarus went. And Dedalus. But they were Ravenclaws."

A seed of hope burgeoned in Severus' chest, and he snatched at it, desperate to cultivate it to see whether any sort of coherent recollection might bloom within the barren confines of his mother's mind.

"Icarus Sweet's my teacher," he said, surveying his mother's face intently for any sign of recognition. "Icarus? Remember? Your friend from Hogwarts?"

Severus' heart leapt almost painfully as his mother smiled.

"Icarus..." she whispered, as she pulled her hand away and stared at a far-off place where Severus could not reach. "I remember Icarus, though he doesn't remember me. I don't... I don't see him... anymore. Not since they came—"

Her hand shot out suddenly and gripped Severus' arm like a vice. Instinctively, Severus flinched, and when he saw the look on his mother's face, a creeping sense of alarm worked its insidious way into his heart, paralysing him.

"Not since they came," she continued, her voice hoarse, her eyes filling with a nameless fear, "Not since they came and took everything away—"

Then she started to sob, her frail shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

Terrified, revolted, ashamed and utterly mortified, Severus extended a trembling hand to comfort his mother. But as soon as his hand touched the thin, white cloth of her nightdress, it was slapped away viciously. He yelled, startled, as his mother grabbed at the lapels of his jacket and pulled him towards her, forcing him to look at her - her face chalk-white and her mouth a thin, twisted ribbon of anguish. Unable to look away, unable to run away, Severus started to cry.

"M-Mum... Mum... You're hurting me," he choked out as he tried in vain to shake off her claw-like grip as gently as he could. "Mum... Please..."

But his mother was no longer there. She had once again been replaced by the frightening, volatile, uncontrollable, weeping stranger - the familiar and all too regular occurrence that had forced his father to place her under permanent care in St. Mungo's when Severus was ten years old.

_"They took everything away from me," she screamed, her voice rising between great, gasping sobs, "They killed it! They killed my— I can't— I can't take it anymore— Please help me— They're coming for me— I knew they would—"_

The door to Eileen Prince's room burst open and Healer Chesterton strode in with two other Healers in tow. They held back his mother's head and tipped a bottle of some sort of potion down her throat - which only made her screaming fit worse. Then Severus felt his father's rough hands wrenching him away from his mother's grasp and he heard himself crying out - unwilling, for some inexplicable reason, to leave her. His mother was now thrashing and flailing wildly as the Healers attempted to restrain her, and Severus was still sobbing and reaching out to her as his father wrapped an arm around him and led him firmly out the door into the corridor, where his young son collapsed in an exhausted heap.

"It's alright, son," he heard his father say, though his voice sounded strangely distant and fuzzy. "It's alright. Today's just a bad day, that's all. Just a bad day..."

For some reason, Severus knew that that wasn't the half of it, and that his mother wasn't going to get better any time soon. And for some reason, that thought only made him cry harder and bury his head into his dad's outstretched arms.

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_Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris._

Or, as most people knew it: "It is a comfort in wretchedness to have companions in woe."

Severus had read _Doctor Faustus_ over the summer to stave off boredom and had instantly latched onto the line, quoting it over and over again in his head when he returned to Hogwarts for his second year. He had tried to read _The Jew of Malta_ too, but it simply wasn't the same. Of course, Marlowe was talking about Hell, but the beauty of it was, was that it could be applied to almost anywhere - especially Hogwarts. It reminded him of Muninn. It reminded him of Slytherin house. Marlowe's words resonated so strongly within him that he had carved the words into his headboard in Latin with his wand so that no one else could understand them. When he woke up in the morning and went to bed at night, it served as a daily reminder of how much he hated the rest of the school.

After a false start in first year, he now belonged in Slytherin house. Well, "belonged" wasn't quite the right word. Despite his half-blood status, he had been assimilated, accepted, tolerated, and was officially part of the house family-dynamic, even though everyone knew he was a loner. This development had arisen due to a prank Potter and his cronies had attempted to play on him in the school corridors. It had backfired spectacularly, with none other than Lucius Malfoy coming to his rescue. When Severus had recovered from the initial shock, he had proceeded to join in, resulting in Potter and co. being sent to the Hospital Wing. Naturally, it had earned both himself and the older boy a week's worth of detentions, but it had been worth it in more ways than one.

While scouring the bedpans in the Hospital Wing, Lucius Malfoy had sat him down and had spoken frankly to him. He had told Severus that he had always been fond of him, and that he was hands-down the most promising student out of last year's intake. He had apologised for Bellatrix Black's indifference - blaming it on her narrow-mindedness and bull-headed hauteur - and informed him that everything would be different from now on.

Severus hadn't believed a word of it, but he had smiled, nodded deferentially and had said all the right things. Let Malfoy think the little half-blood was grateful for his charity. It would make things a damn sight easier for him in the common room. Most importantly, though, it would make things easier in general. Whispers abounded - malicious whispers, increasingly loud - that the Slytherins were all supporters of the Dark Lord, Voldemort. Over the summer, disappearances had become almost a staple feature of the _Prophet_ headlines, and there were quite a few names he recognised - mostly family members of students of the three other houses. So far, no Slytherins had been affected, and the school's suspicion had turned on them. Not a day went past without some sort of altercation taking place. Some of them even tried their hand at humiliating Severus, but when he had grown tired of playing at childish hexing matches, he had set Muninn on them. No one ever bothered him again after that, but his reputation worsened as a result. His fellow Slytherins weren't so lucky.

Dumbledore had tried to ease the tension, which was almost at breaking point by then, but to no avail. His pleas for unity fell upon deaf ears. Both factions felt as though they had been unjustly treated, and the Slytherin students closed ranks. The unspoken Slytherin consensus dictated that it was no longer acceptable to speak with students of another house. This made it exceptionally difficult for Severus to meet with his sole friend outwith his house, Lily Evans, the Gryffindor - the very worst kind of "enemy". Indeed, it was so difficult that they had to meet in secret: outside McGonagall's Transfiguration classroom, once a week, where they exchanged their papers, and a few words, before parting. Meeting with Lily once a week was, admittedly, a good way to get all the inside information - the truth, rather than the garbled, biased accounts fresh from the common room press - but he wished he didn't have to be covert about it all. The secrecy exhausted him.

The unspoken rule also had its effect on one of Slytherin house's newest students. Regulus Black, the younger brother of the Gryffindor imbecile, was always sniffing and moaning because no one would let him see his idiot sibling. For some strange reason, he had went crying to Evan Rosier (of all people) who had snapped at him and informed him in no uncertain terms that Slytherin was his family now and that he'd better learn to accept it or end up a traitor like Sirius. Then he'd pointed at Severus, and had said, with a sardonic grin, "Even he's learned to accept it - and he's a psychotic freak, aren't you, Snape?"

Severus hadn't given Rosier half a second before retribution came upon swift wings in the form of an Invisible Itching Hex that Sweet had taught him - pretty mild, he had thought, considering his new-found status as the house "psychotic freak". Hah. Psychotic freak. Evan could talk.

It had cheered Regulus Black up, though, and the boy had laughed as he watched Rosier scratching madly at himself like a flea-bitten ape while Severus looked on with a nasty smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. The younger Black had soon come round, and became, as they all were, part of the Slytherin furniture - spouting vitriolic, pure-blood mania like all the rest.

Despite such not-so-subtle displays of power, the Slytherin students remained a close-knit group, and stuck together resolutely. It would come in handy, they would discover, a few months on, when the tension that had been threatening to break since the beginning of the school year finally broke with terrifyingly spectacular results.

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_"Sharpened seventh, sharpened seventh, sharpened seventh..."_ Severus muttered to himself as he rattled through the scale of f sharp melodic minor for what felt like the thousandth time, his fingers hitting the notes almost automatically. Almost.

He missed the cursed sharpened seventh again, and threw his scale book to the floor in a rage. Folding his arms, he snorted and leaned heavily on the keys and the piano responded with a discordant protest.

"Perhaps you should take a break, Severus," Muninn said. The dragon was lying, stretched out, on top of the old upright.

"If I take a break now, I'll never get it right," Severus responded through gritted teeth.

After five minutes, he sat up, cracked his fingers and took a deep breath before trying again. But as soon as he reached the crucial point, someone hammered on the door to the old Muggle Studies classroom, making Severus start and lose his concentration. This, in turn, made him lose his temper.

"GET LOST!" he screamed, slamming the lid down. "I AM TRYING TO CONCENTRATE—"

The door burst open to reveal two very familiar figures - out of breath and clutching at stitches in their sides. It was Isidore Wilkes and Dunstan Avery. He stopped short mid-rant when he saw the urgent look on Avery's face.

"Snape..." he breathed, "You have to come— It's Evan. We were all outside and he— he cursed this Mudblood third-year from Gryffindor and it's all kicked off. Lucius told us to come and fetch you, and—"

"We need you, Snape," Wilkes interrupted, with a harshness in his tone Severus had never heard before. "Are you coming?"

For a moment, Severus stood motionless. Despite the fact he knew this had been coming for a long time, it had still taken him by surprise. He never thought he would actually end up getting involved. His black eyes darted from Avery, to Wilkes, and then settled on Muninn, who was still perched on the piano, but now rigid and alert.

_"I have to go,"_ he thought, looking into the dragon's eyes, knowing it would hear him.

_"Very well,"_ it replied gravely, rising from its recumbent position. _"I shall go with you."_

Severus smiled a fleeting, but genuine smile. _"Thank you..."_

He turned round to face Avery and Wilkes and nodded grimly. Both boys' faces split into identical, evil grins.

"Well, come on then, Snape!" Wilkes shouted, as his two dorm mates sped off down the corridor, wands raised.

Severus made to follow them when Muninn held him back.

"We will get there faster and will have the element of surprise," it whispered mischievously into his ear. "Hold on to my mane..."

It was Severus' turn to grin wickedly, and very soon he felt the familiar feeling of turning to air and was careering past Avery and Wilkes, who were only halfway down the corridor. They were blown over as the dragon thundered past, and Severus laughed as he looked back and saw the bemused looks on their stupid faces. Tapestries were torn from the walls as they flew, suits of armour clattered to the floor, portraits were shaken - their occupants yelling and cursing angrily. Students in the entrance hall screamed as an unseen force whipped up their robes and sent their books and parchment flying from their hands. And then, Muninn hit the front doors and they were outside in the frosty, January air.

Severus knew immediately where the fight was. It was hard to miss it. Down by the far side of the lake, wand sparks were blazing: Stunners, Impediment Jinxes, Reductor curses, slashing hexes, searing hexes - and quite a few nastier, not to mention illegal, curses - were being thrown with a frightening intensity by both sides. He could hear the screams already. He could hear the Gryffindors spouting their self-righteous, specialised brand of blind hatred. He could hear the Slytherins doing the same. For a heartbeat, that very thought almost made him turn back. But then he heard James "holier-than-thou" Potter's voice rising out over the chaos, and felt hatred and rage bubbling up inside him, spurring him on.

"Come on, people!" Potter shouted breathlessly, laughing between jinxes, encouraging his friends to fight harder, "These guys don't deserve to live! Disgusting Slytherins! We'll give them a taste of their own medicine, eh?"

_No, Potter. It's you who doesn't deserve to live - at least not in the way a life should be led. Fortunately for me, that can very easily be rectified..._

The battle was raging all around him, but he stared fixedly at James Potter's stupid, grinning face. He whispered to Muninn and felt the dragon nod and change direction. Potter was coming closer and closer, and Severus could feel the mirthless smile on his face widening. Then, just as Muninn was about to pass over James, Severus leapt to the ground and instantly came back into focus just behind the object of his ire. He straightened up slowly and raised his wand...

_Now I'll get a chance to try those hexes Sweet's been teaching me for real._

"Watch your back, James! It's that Snape kid!" Ted Tonks roared, deflecting a curse Malfoy fired at him.

James whipped around, anger and puzzlement written all over his honest face, before Severus' Invisible Itching Hex hit him. Potter fell to the ground, yelling, as Severus went through all the motions Sweet had taught him. His mentor's words echoed in his mind as clearly as though the man were standing before him, speaking to him just as he did every Saturday morning in his office.

_"It is an over-looked hex, Severus, but one that can be extraordinarily effective if utilised properly. For instance, the "cause" of the itching sensation, as well as the severity and the localisation of the sensation itself can be altered with the right force of mind..."_

Severus concentrated and James Potter began to writhe around on the grass, throwing off his glasses and rubbing madly at his eyes. He could feel Muninn fluttering behind him, crackling tendrils of silken-spun air encircling him protectively.

_"For instance, Severus, with this hex, one could impress upon the victim the idea that flies are crawling around inside their eyeballs - unpleasant, I know - but an image that would undoubtedly cause considerable distress to said victim. After prolonged exposure, victims have been known to resort to clawing out their own eyes in hope of ridding themselves of the irritant— What was that, Severus? Oh, I'm sorry. Did I say "in hope"? How odd. I do believe I did. What a strange choice of words..."_

Potter was screaming now, and Severus was thinking of flies. With a nasty smile, he stepped forward and knelt down next to his arch enemy, bending right down so his face was as close as possible to Potter's.

"Look who's disgusting now, Potter," he whispered malevolently. "You'll be the one needing a good wash after I'm done with you. Or at least, you'll think you'll need one. You never know. You might just go mad and Healer Chesterton will be obliged to force vial after vial of disgusting sedative potion down your throat for the rest of your miserable life!" Severus' voice started to waver, and all the anger and hatred he had been harbouring towards everything that had ever went wrong in his life suddenly bubbled to the surface, bitter like bile, washing over him and blinding him to everything else going on about him.

"Would you like that, Potter?" he hissed venomously. "You always joke about "this nutter" and "that nutter" but I really don't think you know what it feels like to watch someone go mad, or to go mad yourself - to become a "nutter" as you so eloquently put it. It's not a very pleasant experience, but I think you deserve the opportunity. Everything's black and white to you right now, Potter - but when I'm finished with you, you won't be able to tell the difference. Won't that be refreshing? Now... let's see you catch the Quaffle without any eyeballs—"

Severus' wand hand twitched, his dark eyes glittering with malice, preparing, in his rage, to increase the severity to the greatest amount his magic would allow. But he didn't get the chance to. Someone yelled, breaking his concentration, and then he felt something slam into him, knocking him to the ground, making stars burst in front of his eyes.

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HIM, YOU SICK FREAK!" he heard Sirius Black roaring. Then, "James! James, mate, are you okay? Speak to me! Come on! Speak—"

Suddenly, Sirius Black's voice was cut off abruptly, degenerating into a series of hoarse, strangled croaks. Face down on the grass by the bank of the lake, Severus started to laugh a low, humourless laugh, and he forced himself to stand, even though every nerve in his body felt as though it were on fire. Blood trickled from one corner of his mouth, and he staggered forward a few steps, one hand clutching at his side, the other at his wand. Everyone had stopped fighting their own battles. All eyes were now on "that freaky Snape kid's mad dragon" that was hovering in mid-air - half there, half not - the "mad dragon" that seemed to be choking Sirius Black to death.

"Let him suffer, Snape! Thumbs down!" Evan Rosier's voice called out viciously over the throng.

"Call it off," he heard Frank Longbottom say, in a resolute, but fearful tone. Though the older boy's voice was quiet, somehow, it sounded much clearer than Rosier's.

For a few, uncomfortable seconds, Severus fixed the Gryffindor with a perplexed stare. Why would he want to call Muninn off? Sirius Black made everyone's life hell. He would be doing a service to society. Then, in a detached way, he turned back and watched Black's face getting redder and redder, the other boy's feet dangling a few inches above the ground. He felt strangely light-headed. Was that because he worked so hard to make the hex work, or was it when Black's hex hit him? What sort of a hex was that anyway? It hit hard, but it wasn't a Stunner. Or maybe it was a Stunner and Muninn had protected him against it...

Severus swayed dangerously and staggered upright. His vision was swimming. Yes. He'd used too much magic. Too much hate. It was too much. He was going to faint...

"Call the damn thing off, Snape!" Longbottom's voice said more urgently.

"Snape, please..." Remus Lupin's voice began. "Don't do this..."

_Going to faint. I'm going to faint._

"SNAPE, DAMMIT, HE'S GOING TO DIE!" Longbottom roared.

Severus blinked owlishly. Die? He'd never considered that happening.

_Can't have that... I'll be all over the front page of the Prophet tomorrow morning. "Slimy Slytherin Offs Hogwarts Poster Boy"... Mustn't... No... Black needs a wash, that's all... Yes... He can't die... Yes... That's it... He just needs a wash... He needs to realise..._

"Throw him in the lake, Muninn," he muttered as his legs folded underneath him, forcing him to sit, his mind reeling, making him feel dizzy. "Throw them all in the lake. One by one. They need a wash. Their minds need washing. They're filthy. All of them. Filthy, filthy, filthy..."

Severus felt himself topple over, and he lay on the frozen grass, breathing harshly. He saw Sirius Black go flying overhead and landing in the middle of the lake with a huge splash. Someone screamed and they followed him immediately after. Then another followed, and another, and another - and when Lucius Malfoy went rocketing into the murky water, Severus felt his strength leave him. A niggling voice in the back of his mind told him that he would dearly regret all this when he woke up, but he couldn't call Muninn off. Not now. He could hear his dragon hissing and spitting. No. He couldn't call it off. It was having too much fun. Severus smiled and closed his eyes, the last thing he remembered before doing so was laughing at the fact that Avery and Wilkes had turned up eventually, only to have missed out on most of the fun - having appeared just in time to be launched head-first into the lake by a raging amphiptere.

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Severus had woken up in the hospital wing a few hours later with a screaming headache, Muninn perched upon a chair by his bedside. Madame Pomfrey had shoved a spoonful of Invigorating Draught down his throat and she had escorted him to the Headmaster's Office when she was certain he was in reasonably good health (or not about to drop dead, Severus thought more accurately, gloomily translating the subtext). Muninn had fluttered off back to the Common Room to wait for him, and when the Matron had said the password at the stone gargoyle (Fizzing Whizzbees), she left to attend to her other patients. Standing at the bottom of the revolving staircase, Severus felt sick and alone.

_I'm going to be expelled for this, I know it. I'll be packing my bags in five minutes..._

Shivering, he wrapped his arms around his scrawny frame and stepped onto the ascending stairs, and after a journey of less than a minute (which felt like a dragon's age to Severus) he raised his hand and knocked on Albus Dumbledore's door.

"Come in," the Headmaster's voice called out airily.

Taking a deep breath, Severus steeled himself, and entered Dumbledore's office. It looked exactly as he remembered it: busy with glittering, whirring objects of immense, magical value; full of telescopes, charts, mysterious cabinets and old books. But one thing was very different. The Headmaster's office was much more crowded than Severus remembered it. As he sidled in, pale and exhausted, his hollow gaze took in a myriad of familiar faces: Avery, Rosier and Wilkes; Potter, Black, Lupin and Pettigrew; Lucius Malfoy and Rabastan Lestrange; Narcissa Black and Alice Perrers; Ted Tonks, Sturgis Podmore and Frank Longbottom. All had taken part in the fight - but no one seemed to notice him, for which he was sorely grateful. He took a seat right at the back and watched as the circus played out. It seemed everything had come to a head in his absence...

"That ain't true! Malfoy's lyin' through his stinkin' teeth - begging your pardon for my language, sir - but that nutjob there was the one who started it!" Podmore yelled angrily, pointing a finger at Rosier, who was smirking insolently at the thatch-haired Gryffindor. "Me an' Ted and the others were comin' back from Hagrid's and he just comes up behind me, like, with all his stinkin' mates and calls my dad a filthy blood-traitor and curses me without warnin' or nuthin'!"

"Is this true, Evan?" Dumbledore inquired, fixing his eerily blue eyes upon Rosier.

Rosier snorted and nodded amusedly. "What can I say?" he said with a scathing chuckle. "His father disgusts me. Marrying a Muggle maidservant? No self-respecting wizard could sink any lower—"

Lucius Malfoy snorted and Wilkes bit back a laugh.

"I'll make you eat those words, Rosier!" the normally kindly Alice Perrers growled, unsheathing her wand.

"That is _enough_, Miss Perrers," Dumbledore said, the warning in his tone unmistakable. Perrers' gaze fell to the floor, her cheeks red with shame.

The Headmaster's eyes swept the room and such was the weight of the cold power behind them that everyone, including Rosier, fell silent at once.

"It is fair to say that the incident that has taken place today is perhaps the most disgraceful I have yet seen in my time at Hogwarts - yes, Mr Lupin," he said seriously, looking over his half-moon spectacles at the ashen-faced Gryffindor, "the most disgraceful - as you have not only brought your own reputations into disrepute, but also that of your respective houses and of the school itself. Each and every one of you present, by participating in this morning's impromptu duel on whatever level, have proven yourselves willing to recklessly endanger the health and well-being of your fellow students. In that respect, I have no choice but to take a regrettably extreme course of action. Neither Gryffindor nor Slytherin house will be eligible to win this year's House Cup - and if any one of you here present take it upon yourselves to break another school rule, you will be promptly expelled."

Everyone gasped, and this unpleasant revelation shocked even Severus.

You can't be serious? All those points I won in Practical Defence and Charms!

"But sir—!" Sirius Black began to protest, before Dumbledore raised a hand and he was silenced.

"As Headmaster, Mr Black, my decision is final," Dumbledore said repressively.

Dumbledore paused for a moment, looking unusually grave, before adding, "I strongly suggest that each and every one of you use what time is left to you today to reflect upon the seriousness of your actions. You must all remember that no one is inextricably bound to any one path and that all living beings are free to act as they will. Contrary to what some may tell you, your future is not pre-determined by what has come before." His eyes swept over the sullen clutch of Slytherins. "It is determined by your will, and whether your will is strong enough to choose between what is right and what is easy, between whether to tread the well-worn path of tradition, or whether you turn your back on that path and strike out on your own. Regrettably, however, it is in the choosing between the right and the easy that is, perhaps, the most difficult choice of all. It requires an enormous amount of courage, which some, I am afraid to say, do lack. But know this," he said calmly, quietly, fixing each and every one of his students with his penetrating gaze, "I do not believe any of you here present in this room do not possess the strength of will and the courage to do what is right."

Dumbledore fell silent. An intense silence fell following this remark, and its barely veiled subtext seemed to have struck two very different chords. Severus could feel the indignant fury of the Slytherins on one side and the profound shame of the Gryffindors on the other, emanating from the separate, warring factions as though in waves. Then the Headmaster's mouth twitched slightly. "However, despite this very generous show of faith I have displayed in you," he said airily, "you will each serve a fortnight's detention, to be organised personally by myself and your respective heads of house. You are now free to leave, if you wish..."

_"Is that it? Two weeks' detention? Am I going to get away with this?"_ Severus thought, dumbfounded.

There was the sound of chairs scraping, as the Gryffindors and Slytherins rose from their seats and started filing out, sullen-faced. Severus made to traipse out after them, but a cold shiver ran down his spine as he heard Dumbledore cough politely and say, "Not you, Mr Snape. I would like a word alone with you, if you would be so kind."

Numb, Severus turned round stiffly and walked back to his seat. He sat and stared at Dumbledore's desk, wringing his hands in silent agitation with his shoulders hunched. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Rabastan Lestrange was the last to leave. The older boy threw Dumbledore a dark look before slamming the door behind him. Severus looked up to see how Dumbledore had taken this act of open defiance, and was surprised to see the Headmaster smiling serenely at him.

"My, my, my! What a to-do, Severus, what a to-do!" he said breezily, as he reached for what Severus recognised as his little silver tray full of sweets.

Severus was already shaking his head in refusal when Dumbledore proffered the tray to him.

"Cola cube?" Dumbledore said, good-naturedly, determined not to be refused. "They're really quite delicious, you know."

"No, thank you, sir," Severus said, a tad forcefully. The thought of food made him feel ill.

"Are you sure, Severus?" the Headmaster pressed. "You look as though you could do with a little sugar."

The threat of expulsion notwithstanding, Severus was growing increasingly tired of the Headmaster's irritating, personalised brand of small-talk. Normally, he could just about put up with it, but this time he had a headache that was making the backs of his eyeballs throb. "I've never been more certain of anything in my life, sir," he snapped wearily, and added, before he could stop himself, "So, no, I don't want any of your damned cola cubes."

The corners of the Headmaster's mouth twitched and he pulled the little tray of sweets away to a safe distance. He remained silent for a prolonged moment, his hands clasped and his brow furrowed, as though pondering a troubling matter. Severus felt his nails digging painfully into the armrests.

_Compounding my humiliation and disgrace by dragging it out - not like you, Headmaster, I must confess. Maybe it's true what they all say in the Common Room. Albus Dumbledore: the Great Protector of Gryffindor house! Woe betide those poor sods unfortunate enough to be sorted into Slytherin!_

When Dumbledore finally spoke, however, it was not upon the matter of Severus' expulsion. It was so far from what he had expected that it threw him utterly, and when the words came, he found himself at a loss.

He said, "How is your mother, Severus?"

Severus felt his blood run cold. Slowly, he removed his arms that had been clutching ferociously at the armrests and folded them across his chest. He remained stonily silent.

Dumbledore seemed undeterred by the fact he was participating in a very much one-sided conversation, and carried on, chatting away as though he were sharing a cup of tea in the staff room with Professor Flitwick.

"Contrary to what some of my students may believe, I do take an interest in what goes on in their lives - some more than others, it has to be said, as I find there is the odd student that occasionally needs that little bit more help—"

_You mean me. The impoverished little half-blood with only just enough money for books, with the Muggle father who means well but knows nothing, and with the screaming, lunatic mother locked away in St. Mungo's. Yes, you would think I needed help, wouldn't you, you loathsome, patronising, old fool..._

"I will not hesitate to admit that you are one of those students, Severus. I know what happened to your mother."

At this Severus looked up and met Dumbledore's gaze, his eyes glittering strangely.

"She was tortured by the followers of Voldemort, I believe, her only crime being her love for your father..."

"They tried to kill her," Severus said in a monotone, "but a wizard rescued her before they could. Dedalus Diggle, I think his name was. The Death Eaters - they called her a blood-traitor. They tried to kill her because she married my dad..."

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes filled with a profound sadness. "I believe you went to visit your mother during the summer holidays, Severus?"

Severus blinked owlishly, but did not register his surprise. He couldn't bring himself to register anything, for that matter. He felt emotionless, flat and empty, which was strange, because usually any mention of his mother brought on either fits of violent rage, or fits of equally violent grief...

"How did you know that?" he asked.

Dumbledore smiled. "I saw you in the foyer, Severus, though I daresay you had rather a lot on your mind that day and failed to notice me. I was out at lunch that day with a dear old friend of mine, Griselda Marchbanks, and there was a rather unfortunate incident involving a Sabre-Toothed Lime."

Severus blinked again.

"A sabre-toothed what?"

"Lime, Severus, lime," Dumbledore elucidated cheerfully. "An alcoholic drink served at the Leaky Cauldron her great-niece suggested she try. The name is derived from the wedge of magically-enhanced lime that gives the drink its unique flavour. She took a sip, and the lime, spotting a novice, instantly seized the opportunity to sink its teeth into the end of her nose." The Headmaster's eyes twinkled. "Naturally," he said, looking as if he was trying not to laugh, "a trip to St. Mungo's soon followed in order for Madame Marchbanks to extricate the troublesome lime from her olfactory organ. But that is neither here nor there. Eileen, is she well?"

Severus smiled wanly. He twisted his fingers and fidgeted for a few moments, agonising over whether he should tell Dumbledore about what happened that day in St. Mungo's. Not telling him anything would make the man suspicious, he reasoned, but the day he would pour out his heart to him like a snivelling Gryffindor would be the day when he would no longer be himself. He eventually decided on a compromise.

"It depends on what you mean by 'well', sir," Severus began in the same emotionless monotone. "Physically, yes, there appears to be nothing wrong whatsoever. Mentally, she is far from well. My dad clings to hope, but there is no hope for her. She'll remain in her current state for the rest of her life - however long she has left..."

And there it was. Saying it out loud brought on a fresh, knifing wave of grief. His voiced cracked and tears threatened at the corners of his eyes. He wiped them away angrily and felt his head fall into his hands. He was so tired. So, so tired. He wanted nothing more than to go to bed, curl up with Muninn and shut his eyes and forget about it all.

_I can't do this, Professor. Please don't make me do this. I know where this conversation is going, and there's no need to make me feel worthless, believe me. I'm a half-blood in Slytherin, the son of a lunatic blood-traitor, and worse - I betrayed her. By siding with them, by taking the easy way out - selfishly wanting to make things better for myself in the Common Room with people I actually hate with a passion - I insulted the memory of her sacrifice. Believe me, Headmaster, I know better than anyone just how worthless I am..._

Then, unbidden, James Potter's words rose to the forefront of his mind.

_"These guys don't deserve to live! Disgusting Slytherins! We'll give them a taste of their own medicine, eh?"_

"He's right," Severus said hoarsely, his hands knit into his long black hair. "I don't deserve to live. I'm a traitor and a coward..."

Severus rose jerkily from his seat and nodded to Dumbledore, his face deathly pale.

"I won't waste any more of your time, Headmaster," he said, his voice emotionless once more. "I want to get all my possessions together as soon as possible because I don't relish the thought of dragging this whole affair out—"

"Severus, I did not summon you here to discuss your expulsion, now please sit down," Dumbledore said firmly.

Severus sat.

"I have summoned you here to make an exchange with you, Severus," he said, suddenly business-like. "I intend to grant you a privilege in exchange for a promise."

Severus raised his glassy eyes from the floor to meet Dumbledore's gaze. The Headmaster's eyes were fixed upon him intently. Severus did not look away.

"I know a great deal of what goes on in this school, though I do not profess myself omnipotent," he began. "I know, for instance, that you and your dragon have taken a liking to flying out of the castle, of an evening, to watch the gatherings of various local _weyrs_—"

_Oh god..._

Various unwelcome emotions rose within him: puzzlement, dread, humiliation, resentment - all clamouring and strident, rendering him utterly unable to pinpoint which one was causing the strong feeling of nausea.

_I'm going to be sick..._

Dumbledore appeared to realise that his young charge was about to throw up over the floor of his office, and he continued swiftly, as if by doing so he might avert such a colourful course of events.

"I know you have formed a strong bond with your dragon, Severus. Perhaps stronger even than you know. I also know that you deeply regret participating in this morning's altercation. For that reason, I will make an exchange," Dumbledore began. "I will let you keep your pet at Hogwarts, and will even turn a blind eye on your night-time wanderings, on the condition that you do not use your dragon to harm other students, and also on the condition that, however tempted you may be otherwise, you make the right choice when the time comes. Is that clear to you, Severus?"

Severus was trembling slightly. He'd never been so afraid of Dumbledore as he was now. Yet at the same time, he'd never felt so grateful, either, nor so in awe. He didn't know what he wanted to do. Travel from common room to common room singing the man's praises? Sob his heart out and blurt out his life-story? Fall to his knees and kiss the hem of his robes? Hug him?

_No..._

Severus settled on nodding restrainedly and uttering, his voice filled with a confusing swirl of emotions, "I promise."

At this, Dumbledore smiled a warm, genuine smile that made Severus feel very lonely indeed.

"Thank you, Severus," he said. "I will hold you to that promise. If you wish, you may now leave, if you do not have anything further you wish to tell me?"

Shaking his head, Severus replied, "No, Headmaster."

"Very well then," Dumbledore said gently. "Have a good night, Severus. And please do not hesitate to come to me any time you need me."


	9. Chapter 9

Birch-Wood and Dragon-Heartstring

* * *

AN: Here followeth the list of those who deserve grateful thanks:

First, Birgit, my beta, who provides me with valuable constructive criticism and praise in equal measure. That way, I don't bamboozle any readers with description and syntax that seem perfectly fine in my head at the time, but lose their intelligibility with a remarkable swiftness as soon as I put pen to paper.

Thank you, too, in the order of the review board, to Novitas, Noctu, Captain Evermind, Iva, Sandwich, Grisfaol, Onatah1 and Lunatique for leaving kind reviews. To borrow Novitas' phrase, they made me feel nice and shiny. Thanks also go out to all those who put me on their favourites list, and I shall mercilessly out you here: Captain Evermind, Eraina, Iva, Onatah, Prongsie the Prat (what a great name!), Randomdej, SlythCommand, Telos and Novitas.

Now, for those of you who were wondering just what happened in the forest that fateful night Severus first met the amphiptere - read on and the answer shall appear before your eyes.

* * *

"Really, Black. Are you _completely_ brain-dead? Are you so moronic that you cannot master the simplest of non-verbal spells?"

Regulus Black's cheeks flushed an ugly red, betraying his wounded pride.

"Like any of them are _simple_!" he snapped, throwing down his wand upon the nearest bed in frustration. "Just because you have nothing better to do with your time than read books and practise spells—"

The older boy, lounging languorously upon his four poster bed as teenagers are wont to do, shifted himself up onto his elbows and surveyed his young charge, his black eyes glittering. "Oh you know I do much, much more than that, Black," he whispered. "So don't dare presume you know anything about me. You're only here right now because the equally moronic individuals with whom I have the misfortune to be sharing a dormitory have pestered me into teaching you for this little Dark Arts club they have going. If you don't want to learn, then shut your ignorant mouth and get out and leave me in peace, for I have much better things to do with my time, I assure you. If you do wish to learn, however, then you can shut your ignorant mouth all the same and get on with what I have asked you to do."

Regulus' mouth opened and closed a few times, but no words came out. Then he made an odd, strangled snarling noise and picked up his wand again, screwing his eyes shut and resuming the exercise the older Slytherin had set him to help focus his mind. His tutor smirked and picked up the book on music theory he'd set aside, continuing where he'd laid off. He'd done rather well, considering Muninn was now no longer here to instil fear into the hearts of his house mates.

Severus Snape was now in his fifth year at Hogwarts. He'd grown taller, smarter, wilier, more manipulative and much more adept at the curses and hexes for which he was now infamous (or so Potter said). His jet-black (and regrettably greasier) hair hung down to his shoulders; his cheekbones and the dark circles of sleeplessness under his eyes were more pronounced; and he had all but perfected the art of cultivating a smokescreen of mystery with which to protect himself and others.

After the talk with Dumbledore in his second year, Severus realised that it was far too good a chance to pass up, and both he and Muninn agreed that it would be best if Muninn made himself scarce. Well, he had eventually managed to convince Muninn that it would be best, anyway, and he had come back from his Christmas holidays, having appeared in the Common Room without Muninn. When the Slytherins had finally plucked the courage up to ask him where his dragon was, he had told them the carefully crafted lie he and Muninn had constructed between them: that his pet had died just before Christmas. Low flying plane. Cursed Muggles.

Naturally, his fellow housemates were quick to express their insincere sympathies, and Severus had found himself quite disgusted at how badly they'd attempted to conceal their glee at the news. Soon after, he'd found himself subject to a typically Slytherin attempt at power restructuring - but to their ire and dismay, even without Muninn to aid him, he'd come out of the fray pretty well. This year, Boris Bulstrode, the seventh-year, was top-dog, but Evan Rosier and his associates were now in the ascendance. By virtue of sharing a dormitory with Rosier and the others, Severus was included in that grouping. However, he had also recaptured and consolidated his erstwhile house status as 'The Psychotic Loner' due to his intimidating array of hexes and curses he'd learned from Sweet and created himself, which he did not hesitate to use on those who crossed him.

The Slytherins treated him with a cautious respect, and kept their distance. Unfortunately, though, there was a curiosity there too, which Severus was constantly striving to dispel. For Severus Snape would disappear every night - and occasionally on weekends - and would return only in the wee hours of the morning, always smelling of lightning and stratosphere. He fobbed off enquiries by saying that he was visiting his mother (and that was true on weekends), and no one questioned him after that, although the calculating looks suggested they weren't quite at ease with the half-truth he'd fed them. If he had been in any other house, doubtless, they would've went straight to Dumbledore, but any Slytherin worth their salt would've rather been dead than caught spilling their guts to the Gryffindor-loving Headmaster.

All things considered, it had worked out rather well. Even Sweet believed the dragon to be dead, and he had expressed his sympathies in one of their private lessons. That was another thing he kept resolutely secret - at his Professor's behest, of course. His lessons. At the time of his suspension, Sweet hadn't wanted accusations of favouritism levelled at him over and above the popular diagnosis of psychosis that came screaming in his general direction via Howlers to the Headmaster. Severus had agreed, and so his lessons in music and Dark Arts became another thing he'd had to keep to himself.

Only Dumbledore seemed to be aware of his big secrets - both of them - for he twinkled at Severus and nodded conspiratorially at breakfast on occasion. Severus always responded by frowning and concentrating doubly upon his copy of _The Prophet_. After all, it wouldn't do to be seen as being looked favourably upon by Dumbledore, even less so to have suspicion brought upon himself. There was also the matter of what he referred to as his 'lesser secret', or his professional friendship with Lily Evans. They still worked together in Potions, Lily having long since swapped desks to sit with him, much to the ire of James Potter, who everyone knew fancied the pants off Evans. The Slytherins didn't think anything of it, because they held the view that Evans was a jumped-up, scrounging Mudblood tart who sat with Severus so she could copy him. That, of course, was the only reason Slughorn gave her such good marks. "I just don't know how you put up with it, Snape," they'd say. Severus would merely shrug and smile slightly. "Does it matter? I'm still the best, aren't I?" he'd say in return.

They also continued to read over one another's essays, meeting every Saturday morning in a different location each week (to avoid suspicion) and always early because both students were perpetually run off their feet with extracurricular commitments. Severus always avoided discussing his but made up for it by listening to Lily complaining about this and that - usually Potter pestering her about the next Hogsmeade trip - and responding appropriately.

They were normally very good at keeping things secret, so that was why Severus felt a cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach when he heard Evans storming out of the Practical Defence classroom in pursuit of him, after he'd landed a rather spectacular non-verbal Slashing Hex on Sirius Black and walked out.

The elder Black had, once again, insulted his mother, and, once again, Severus had ensured he paid for it - with interest. Severus had never tried the Slashing Hex non-verbally, so when the visceral blood had spattered out in a rather pretty arc, he'd been as surprised as everyone else in the room. There was a shocked, collective gasp. After that, everything had happened so quickly. Sweet had rushed to Black's aid, shouting for calm, and Severus had walked casually from the classroom, running a hand through his hair, taking a few deep breaths to clear the hotness from his head.

Severus had picked up the pace. He could hear Evans' footsteps matching his, then growing quicker, more determined. She cornered him squarely at the end of the corridor, her freckled cheeks pink with fury, the threat of discovery and the look in her eyes quashing the initial surge of euphoria he'd felt. And now Lily was here, forsaking their careful secrecy by bawling her lungs out at him in a corridor where any fool could hear.

"What the _hell_ was that about, Snape?" she fumed, her hands on her hips. "You could've killed him!"

Severus rolled his eyes, which made Lily even angrier. "What do you care?" he snapped. "You hate Black. You think he's an arrogant twat. You've said so yourself - and many a time, I hasten to add—"

"God, Snape, you're so bloody... _bloody-minded_ sometimes, I swear!" she snarled through gritted teeth. "Yes, I think he's an arrogant twat, but I don't want him _dead_!"

"Did Black look dead to you?" Severus hissed, swivelling round on his heel to face his Gryffindor friend. "All that yelling and screaming leaves no doubt, in my eyes, that he's still very much—"

"Shut up, Snape!" Lily almost shouted, cutting him off with a smouldering look, her jaw set. "Listen to what I am saying. Listen to my modal auxiliary: you _could have_ killed him..."

Severus was just about to shout back, when a heavy hand landed upon his shoulder and whirled him around. It was Professor Sweet, looking harassed, with Black slung around his shoulders.

"Get back to class, Miss Evans," he commanded curtly. "Now."

Not daring to disobey, Lily Evans shot a last withering look at Severus that said "I'm not done with you yet" before stalking back to the classroom, slamming the door closed behind her. Then Professor Sweet turned to his young protégé, regarding him with a hint of amusement in his icy blue eyes.

"Feeling rebellious today, are we?" he asked.

"I'm afraid, rather, that it's retribution, sir," Severus answered conversationally, though the memory of Black's insult was still coursing through his veins, which made his voice waver a little and spoiled the effect of nonchalance he was trying to achieve. "He insulted my mother."

"Not true," Black choked, grimacing with pain from his lopsided position. "I just think you have a lot in common, is all. Both nutters..."

Severus felt the red mist descending again, but Sweet held out his one free hand to stop him. As Severus clenched his fist around his wand, silently begging to be allowed to curse Black into a red, visceral stain on the floor, one of Sweet's nerve-jangling silences fell. The Professor's jaw tightened, and his eyes were fixed on Black, regarding him with an odd, restrained sort anger. Severus looked on - curious and wary - very much aware that this was the same Sweet who had strung up Slughorn over the Ravenclaw tower for very much the same reason as he now threatened his hated Gryffindorian rival.

"I heard you, Black," Sweet said coldly. "And if I ever hear you making light of the misfortunes of others in such a callous manner again, I shall punish you personally for it, do I make myself clear?"

"P-Perfectly clear," Black retorted, as scathingly as he was able. "Now, are you going to take me to the Hospital Wing, or am I going to have to drag myself along and die at the door, because I really don't trust the way you've attempted to heal me. You don't want another suspension, do you, _Professor_?"

Sweet's upper lip twitched almost imperceptibly, before he gave Severus a curt nod and swept down the corridor, Black hanging limp around his shoulders. But just before the two figures swept out of sight, Severus heard Black's voice, taut with pain and anger, calling out to him.

"Lily's right. You almost killed me, Snape! I'm going to get you for this! I'm going to get you back for this, I swear it!"

By the time he got back to the Common Room five minutes later, having decided to skip lunch, his bag and books were sitting atop his bed - along with a note written in the Headmaster's now ominously familiar handwriting.

"Eight o'clock. My office. See me.

That will be all, Severus."

* * *

Not for the first time (and most likely not the last, he thought ruefully), the gargoyle leading to Dumbledore's office made itself scarce with the laborious, grinding din of stone upon stone. It was precisely eight o'clock and Severus adjusted the collar of his robes and, with a sigh of trepidation, stepped onto the winding staircase. When he stepped off and was confronted by the set of double doors, he rapped on them a little harder than necessary and waited for Dumbledore to call him in.

"Come in, Severus," Dumbledore's voice called out - inappropriately cheerful as ever.

Severus suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and pushed the creaking doors open, where he was surprised to find not only a pale, sullen-looking Black, but an equally sullen-looking Professor Sweet. His pale hands were folded in his lap and he sat, almost engulfed, in a flowery chintz armchair, a cup of tea perching, untouched, upon the armrest. Sweet's eyes darted over to Severus for the briefest of moments before they returned to gaze warily at the Headmaster. Dumbledore was supremely unperturbed by the hostile atmosphere, and when he laid eyes on Severus he clapped his hands and said, "Wonderful, wonderful! Now that we are all here, we may begin. Would you care for an Allsort, Severus? No? Are you sure? They're quite delicious. Very well then. Please, do take a seat."

Severus sat. It was odd, but this time, he didn't feel quite so apprehensive as usual. That was probably because, now, there was someone here who would stick up for him for a change. Although that didn't stop him wondering about why his favourite Professor was here. Maybe Dumbledore wanted a witness? He sneaked a sidelong glance at Sweet. He didn't seem at all happy about being here. He forced his eyes back to Dumbledore.

"Now," the Headmaster began, surveying each of them over his half-moon spectacles, "I understand that a rather serious incident occurred this morning in Professor Sweet's first Practical Defence class of the day."

Sirius Black snorted derisively. Dumbledore ignored him and carried on serenely.

"From what I have gathered, it appeared to have been caused by a rather ill-timed remark from you, Sirius, which resulted in Severus responding in an extraordinarily reckless manner—"

There was a cough. All eyes turned to Sweet.

"Excuse me, Headmaster," he said, his face inscrutable, "but I must impress upon you that it was much, much more than a mere 'ill-timed remark'. Mr Black is well aware of Eileen Prince's condition, and to use it in such a manner against Severus, to provoke him, proves that it was a callous and calculated insult - not an 'ill-timed remark'."

Dumbledore paused for thought.

"I do apologise, Icarus. Forgive my improper turn of phrase, for indeed it was. " Dumbledore replied eventually, stroking his white beard, before letting his gaze drift to Black, who stiffened in his chair. "Would you agree, Sirius?"

Black's grey eyes widened before they fell to watching his hands twist agitatedly in his lap. A few moments of silence followed where Black appeared to be warring with himself, before he said, hoarsely, "Yes, Professor. It was. I agree."

Severus' eyebrows shot up. It must have killed Black, _killed him_, to have to say that, to agree with Sweet like that. He would've cackled with glee but Severus knew, with a sharpened sixth sense of foreboding, what was coming next.

"Nevertheless," Dumbledore continued gravely, fixing Severus with one of his glittering, penetrating gazes, "that does not excuse your conduct, Severus. I believe that my turn of phrase, while woefully inappropriate concerning Sirius' actions, was quite accurate concerning your role in this morning's events. Do you agree?"

Severus swallowed and felt his face turning pale. Now he knew how Black felt. His pride was screaming at him to disagree, to walk out like he'd done in class this morning, harness Muninn and leave Hogwarts, leave everything behind for good. His rational mind, however, told him, in no unreasonable terms, that Sweet would be quite, quite disappointed in him if he did that. So Severus swallowed his pride and managed a jerky nod, for he couldn't quite force out the words.

"Then I rather believe that there is not much more to discuss," Dumbledore said. "Sirius, fifteen points will be deducted from your house for words and actions I presumed to be beneath you." Black lowered his head in shame. "And you, Severus, for recklessly endangering the well-being of a fellow student, fifty points will be deducted from your house and you will serve a week's detention."

Severus, too, lowered his head, desperate not to catch the Headmaster's eye.

"I must also ask you both to refrain from bringing your personal grievances into Practical Defence," Dumbledore added, steepling his fingers. "However much it may appear to present the perfect opportunity to hex your fellow students without fear of reprisal—"

"Excuse me," Sweet interrupted icily. "Are you implying that I cannot control my students?"

A heavy silence fell.

_Bloody hell, is he going to go for Dumbledore?_ Severus thought with anxious disbelief.

He stole a glance over at Black, who appeared to be equally wary of the way the conversation was going. His grey eyes darted from Professor to Professor, not knowing where to look in case he caught the eye, or the wrath, of either one of them.

Dumbledore's face had become a mask, and he sat there, steepling his fingers, his glinting blue eyes fixed on his youngest staff member. Sweet stared back, his flinty gaze boring in the Headmaster with equal intensity. Severus suddenly found himself feeling a little ill...

_Please don't lose it, Professor. Please. You've already had one suspension. He'll sack you for sure this time..._

"That is why you dragged me up here, is it not?" Sweet went on, the threat of anger underlying his chilly tone unmistakable. His blonde head tilted to one side suddenly, his eyes still boring into the Headmaster. "What? You did not wish to have to speak to me in front of the students?" Dumbledore's mouth thinned with displeasure and he broke eye contact. Sweet snorted with derision and he smiled that ominous smile where his eyes went wide and he showed his teeth. "So you wanted to spare me the humiliation - how courteous of you, Headmaster, and don't I feel silly!" Then, in a heartbeat, his smile faded and his face darkened. "Well, it's far too late for that now - so go on! Say what you've got to say and just get it damned well over with, because I for one—"

Severus and Black both flinched at the sound of the sharp rap on the door. Sweet's head snapped round, two spots of colour on his cheeks, glaring at the doors as though daring the interloper to enter and incur his wrath. Dumbledore looked equally discomfited, and had raised his hand and opened his mouth, presumably about to let his visitor know he was busy. But the visitor pushed his way in.

Severus' blood ran cold.

It was Ollivander.

The wand-maker's eerie moon-like eyes flitted briefly around the room, taking in the snapshot of confrontation and clearly sensing the tension that drifted like a malevolent fog upon the air. To Severus' horror, he was wearing his clinking leather boots, his dragon-hide gaiters and gauntlets; his thick travelling cloak: his string-collecting garb. Severus hissed as a sharp pain blossomed in his chest, and he clutched at it, feeling the old hatred rising.

_There's a gathering tonight. There's as gathering here tonight and he knows it. He's going to kill one of them. Either that or... or..._

"My apologies, Dumbledore, for interrupting," Ollivander said sincerely in his strange, silvery voice, backing out from the room with a nod. "I wasn't aware you had company."

_... he might be here to get Muninn._

Severus felt his hand reaching for his wand...

"No matter, Ollivander," Dumbledore said, a semblance of his former cheer returning. "This was somewhat unplanned. I shall be finished here momentarily..."

Severus withdrew his wand from the folds of his robes discreetly, deliberately. Then he raised it at arm's length, aiming it at Ollivander's heart. If he could pull off one non-verbal Slashing Hex in a day for fun, he could pull off another in earnest.

He summoned the image of the incantation in his mind.

A strange calm settled over him.

It was now or never.

"SEVERUS, NO!"

Sweet's shout shattered his concentration, and the curse withered and died in the confines of his mind before he could summon the force to cast it. A feral snarl escaped his lips, enraged that he had been denied what he so desperately sought.

All eyes fell upon him, including Ollivander's, and at the sight of Severus, his glittering eyes widened in recognition. Then the corners of the wand-maker's lips turned up in that nasty, wry smile Severus could have never forgotten even if he'd wanted to.

"Boy," he said simply, bowing his head in greeting. "So we meet again."

Severus said nothing. He was trembling now with fury, his mind turning over all the possible curses he could use on the wand-maker. His wand was still pointed at Ollivander, and only when he felt Sweet's hand on his shoulder, attempting to coax him back down into his chair, did he realise he was standing.

Dumbledore, too, had risen from his seat and he spoke with a quiet gravity, his low voice sonorous, appearing to address not only Severus, but the room in general.

"Severus, you may leave," he said. "I shall forward the details of your punishment at a later date."

But Ollivander did not appear as keen on the idea of letting Severus out of his sight. He smiled again, his enigmatic smile, and took a step further into the room, his eyes fixed upon Severus.

"Now, now, Dumbledore," he said quietly, "Let's not be hasty. You know how much I enjoy these little talks with young Snape." He paused for a moment, letting the insult linger. Then...

"I felt that, Boy," he said, tapping his temple with a gnarled finger. "I felt it in here. You meant it, didn't you? You really meant it. Going to go for my heart, were you?" He laughed a silvery laugh which made the hairs on the back of Severus' neck tingle. "Well... I do not deny there would have been a certain poetic justice in that."

"Severus," Dumbledore's voice rose once again in warning. "You are excused. I must ask you to return to your dormitory and remain there until further notice."

The substrate of threat in the Headmaster's tone was too obvious to ignore, so Severus forced himself to move, jerkily, sheathing his wand as he did so. The few steps that took him from his chair to the door felt drawn-out, slow, sluggish. Everything around him was blurred, except that one clear point in his reddening field of vision. He passed Ollivander without looking at him. When he finally reached door, he placed his hand upon its frame, and said to Ollivander, quite calmly, "I'm going to kill you."

Then he walked out, gently closing the door behind him.

* * *

Still labouring under a haze of detachment, he reached the Common Room five minutes later and headed straight for his dormitory. He heaved his trunk out from under his bed and raked through it for his boots, gloves and hooded travelling cloak with a single-minded determination. After pulling them on, he ignored all of Isidore Wilkes' attempts to find out where in the hell he was going at this time of night and headed out towards the Great Hall and the castle doors without a word.

Muninn hadn't come in to get him this time, so there was much less of a chance of leaving the castle unseen. However, Severus was not in the mood for bandying idle threats with jobsworth caretakers, and it was quite fortunate for Mr Filch that his path did not cross that of young Severus Snape. There was an odd rustling sound, a stealthy sound, with an echo that sounded like a footfall that his ears picked up just as he was about to leave the castle. Severus searched, but found nothing. After letting his dark eyes roam over the entrance hall one last time, he seemed satisfied and, pulling up his hood, stepped out into the bleak, mid-winter night.

Tonight, he did not care much for secrecy, therefore he headed straight for the usual meeting place without faltering from his path to lay off any inquisitive dirt-diggers: the concave nook in the stonework on the west side of the castle where Severus could wait for Muninn to appear, shielded from the weather. When he got there, he looked up to find the dragon was already waiting for him, coiled up, full-size, upon the awning. Its eyes were bright and burning with a pale fire, and before Severus could even open his mouth to speak, Muninn's words were in his head.

_"Ollivander is here, Severus. I smell death upon him."_

"I know," he replied tensely. "I was in Dumbledore's office. He turned up. He's here for the weyr, Muninn, I know it." He clenched his fists in frustration. "The Opal-Eyes are going to be here tonight. Horrible bastard. Why go all the way to Australia when you can just sit on your arse and have them come to you?"

"We must warn them, Severus. There must not be a death tonight—"

There was a crack. The sound of a twig snapping not far from where they conversed. Muninn's thoughts cut off abruptly and its delicate, narrow head swivelled round and sniffed the air. Severus had drawn his wand and was pointing it at the source of the noise.

_"There is an intruder here."_

"Can you smell them?"

_"Yes..."_

"Is it Ollivander?"

_"No, but the smell is familiar..."_

Severus grimaced. Had Wilkes trailed him from the Common Room? Stupid, stupid of him to be so careless!

"Show yourself!" Severus commanded, advancing slowly, his wand training on the source of the noise. He lit his wand. Now he could see the broken twig, a set of footprints in the snow: the ones preceding them concealed. There was a shadow of someone standing stock-still a few feet away. Behind him, he could hear Muninn starting to growl, a deep, rumbling, menacing sound that bade only ill.

"If you do not show yourself, then I'll let Muninn deal with you," Severus announced, now standing barely inches from the intruder. "And believe me, against him, you will not have a chance in hell."

A moment passed. The intruder seemed to be considering something. Then there was a silvery flicker of light as an Invisibility Cloak fell to the floor, revealing a tall, young man, wearing a grey winter cloak with blue eyes and a shock of fair hair.

Severus' mouth dropped open. His wand fell to his side.

"P-Professor!" he spluttered. "What are you doing here?"

Sweet did not answer. He was standing there, rigid, his face chalk-white and his eyes fixed upon a point a few feet about Severus' head. Severus had a very shrewd idea of what had managed to capture Sweet's undivided attention. There was a soft whoosh of air behind him and the sound of shifting snow. A shadow passed over his head and he saw Muninn advancing upon Sweet, inch by inch, drawing its shimmering, pearly-scaled face closer to him until its muzzle almost touched the Professor's nose. Muninn was staring at his quarry, unblinking - impossibly sharp fangs protruding from its upper jaws. Sweet's hair fluttered gently as the dragon breathed, and, illuminated as it was by the light of the amphiptere, it shone like a warm, glittering, golden beacon - the only splash of colour in a scene washed in shadow and cold light. His eyes were closed, as though readying himself for something... unpleasant.

Severus wasn't worried, however. It was all just posturing on Muninn's part. It wouldn't do anything unless Severus asked it to. Besides, the dragon had never quite forgiven Sweet for getting it with a Binding Curse on the Hogwarts Express five years ago, so Severus supposed it was just grasping the opportunity to get him back. He would have to stop it all though. Now. Muninn was enjoying itself far too much.

"Muninn, leave him, for god's sake," Severus said, stepping forward and laying his hands upon Muninn's muzzle, gently pushing him away. "This really isn't the time..."

Muninn smiled and withdrew without protest, coiling itself up again on the awning to watch, its eyes alight with amusement. Severus shook his head and turned to tend to Sweet, whose legs appeared to have folded up underneath him, as he was sitting cross-legged in the snow looking decidedly ruffled, staring at him accusingly.

"Severus..." he said quietly, his voice trembling just a little, "That dragon is _not_ dead."

Severus bit back the urge to laugh. Instead, he settled himself down next to Professor Sweet and shrugged.

"I know," he replied. "I'm sorry. We had to pretend Muninn was dead because I have... an arrangement with Dumbledore."

Sweet looked positively aghast.

"_Dumbledore_ knows about this?" he said incredulously.

"I'm afraid so, sir," Severus said. "We're still not quite sure how he found out, but I'm thinking now that it might be something to do with Ollivander—"

Sweet held up a hand and blinked, making an attempt to compose himself.

"Forgive me, Severus, but since you appear to be explaining things, how about you take it one step at a time? Beginning with, perhaps, your so-called _arrangement_ with Dumbledore? Then, if you wish, you may move onto Ollivander, if you still feel it relevant," he finished in a tone bordering on snappish. He still looked as though he wasn't quite sure what had just happened.

Severus smiled. He'd never thought he'd ever live to see his cold, distant Professor so shaken up like this. "Apologies, Professor," he replied. "My arrangement with Dumbledore went something along the lines of: Muninn can stay at Hogwarts and we can go out flying whenever we like on the condition that I don't use him to harm anyone. Unfortunately, the temptation to use him to throttle certain individuals to within an inch of their lives was a little too great, so I thought it best that we both simply removed ourselves from temptation. It's much better this way. Muninn isn't cooped up in the stuffy, old dungeon anymore and I can fend for myself quite well now, thanks to you."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Sweet's lips.

"So that's why he was so concerned about passing those restrictions on what pets you lot can bring to Hogwarts."

"That's what I said, too," Severus said with a smirk. "Muninn laughed when I told him. He was so proud of being the cause of a school restriction."

Sweet's smile widened slightly. Good, thought Severus, because for an increasingly nerve-wracking moment, he was sure his Professor had succumbed to shock.

"Very well. I think I'm beginning to see what's going on here," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, before turning to Severus and addressing him frankly. "Now, an answer to the question that has been lingering in my mind. Why on earth did you try to murder Mr Ollivander in Dumbledore's office in front of myself, Sirius Black and Dumbledore, no less?"

Severus hesitated. "Ah..." he said. "That might take a little bit longer."

"That's quite alright, Severus," Sweet replied, unperturbed. "I was planning to write a letter to my old friend Hambledon Quince informing him that I find his theory that Muggles are descended from mushrooms preposterous in the extreme, but I suppose that can wait. So do go on, Severus. I have all night. Or at least I hope," he added, so quietly that Severus almost didn't catch it.

Severus opened his mouth to begin his story, but something had lodged in the forefront of his mind and simply would not budge.

He frowned and said, "Mushrooms? Is your friend putting things other than tobacco in his fags?"

Sweet laughed and shook his head ruefully. "I would imagine so, if I didn't know him better. Hambledon's always been like that - and I should know. I shared a damned dormitory with the man for seven years, along with Dedalus Diggle, of which you are already aware. Ahh, Dedalus. He whose great dream is to re-invent the cheese cauldron and make it workable. Honestly, I'm surprised I still have an ounce of common sense left..."

From somewhere above their heads came an odd, grating sound - suspiciously like a dragon approximating an impatient cough. Severus and Sweet looked up to find Muninn glaring at them.

"Scintillating though the subject of mushrooms and cheese-cauldrons may be," it began, "I am afraid a greater issue remains to be attended to."

"Of course," Severus said, feeling irritation at the fact that he'd forgotten himself so easily swell, then subside at Muninn's following words.

_"Do not berate yourself, Severus. You must remain here with Icarus Sweet. My kind would be suspicious and would not heed our warning were I to let you ride with me."_

Severus nodded and Muninn fluttered up into the air, donning the ethereal, smoky form it wore when traversing the vast, silvery expanses of sky under moonlight. Sweet stared up at it, utterly fascinated. Severus, however, was so used to Muninn's transformations that they had become commonplace to him, though he never failed to find them pretty.

"I shall take my leave of you Severus, Icarus Sweet," it said, its words betraying a real sense of urgency. "There shall be neither death, nor conflict tonight."

And with that, there was a crackle like that of lightning as Muninn shot off into the ether, trailing curling tendrils of mist in its wake.

With the departure of Muninn, the place sank into darkness and a few snowflakes plucked up the courage to fall, speckling the tops of their heads and shoulders with a few, soft crystalline points of white. For a while, Severus and Sweet sat there in silence in the snow: Severus' eyes lingering upon Muninn's vacated awning with apprehension, and Sweet staring at what appeared to be an interesting looking stone in the masonry of the castle walls. Then Sweet turned to Severus, disturbing the snowflakes which had gathered about his cloak, and said:

"Now... Ollivander."

* * *

It was half past ten before Sweet returned to the castle, looking thoughtful. It was no wonder, because Severus had given him much to think about. While they'd sat there out in the snow, Severus had told him everything. Everything. About how he'd seen Muninn being attacked by Ollivander in a dream; about how he'd dashed down to the forest and saved it from dying; about how Muninn had given him a heartstring; about how he and Muninn had sworn revenge against the wand-maker; about Dumbledore taking him round Diagon Alley and straight to Ollivander's shop; about what Ollivander had said to him about his wand; even about the fit he'd thrown in the street afterwards.

Sweet had listened to everything he'd said with an odd, pensive expression, and when Severus had finished, his Professor had given him something to think about.

Sweet had quizzed him on how exactly he'd managed to save Muninn from dying, considering he'd been eleven at the time and without a wand. Severus had told him, reliving the moment he'd felt that strange, tingling feeling rushing from his chest to the tips of his fingers, the pride of it having been his very first, real bit of magic. Again, Sweet had listened to him. Then he had said quietly, gravely:

"Severus, are you aware of the nature of the act of magic you performed that night?"

Severus had shook his head. Odd, really, but he'd never thought about much it since the whole thing had happened. He'd knew that Muninn had drawn something from him, so he'd assumed that it was magic - magic enough to heal its wound.

No, Sweet had told him. It wasn't just that. It had been a Binding contract.

Severus hadn't had a clue what a Binding contract was, so Sweet had explained to him, calmly and patiently. Apparently, such an amount of magic had been needed to close Muninn's mortal wound that a soul exchange had taken place - that was what the odd, tingly feeling of displacement had been. The paled expression on Severus' face must have given him away, because Sweet had then hastened to add that it had been done to sustain him, because with the vast reserves of magic needed to heal the dragon, it would have killed him, otherwise. He also stressed that it was more than likely only a miniscule part of Muninn's soul was residing inside him at the moment, so there shouldn't be any undue side-effects.

Severus had fallen silent, and after a while Sweet had asked him whether he was alright. He'd nodded and said that he'd just been thinking and that, if it was okay, he'd wait out here for a bit until Muninn got back. Sweet had nodded, pushed himself up on legs stiff from the cold, had told him to be careful and had then made his way back up to the castle. It was beginning to snow rather heavily, so Severus had moved into the nook and sat under the awning, waiting for Muninn to show up.

It wasn't long before it did and it came fluttering down, landing gracefully on the snow before Severus, and, seeing that he was alone, nuzzled into his neck by way of greeting. Severus didn't respond, and Muninn drew back its head, gazing at him quizzically.

"What is wrong, Severus? You should be happy, for the weyr will not take place tonight. My kind have heeded the warning. There will be no deaths," Muninn said happily.

Severus managed a wan smile. "That's good," he said, absently stroking Muninn's blue mane of hair.

There was a moment's silence. Then...

"Muninn," Severus said, "I know what you did to me that night you gave me your heartstring."

Underneath his hand, Severus felt all the muscles in Muninn's serpentine body tense. The dragon's light muted and it bowed its head, curling itself away from Severus in shame.

"I am sorry, Severus," it whispered. "Are you angry with me?"

Severus' heart squeezed painfully to see his beloved dragon looking so dejected.

"No. Not really," he said in truth, moving on his knees to close the gap Muninn had created and reaching out a hand to stroke the dragon's nose. "I suppose I felt a little used at first, but, then again, I'm so glad I was."

To his surprise, a single, shimmering tear fell from Muninn's eye; it looked like liquid opal, and was at once both beautiful and very, very sad.

"I am fortunate, indeed, to know you, Severus," it said, its voice wavering with emotion. "There is no one else in this world more deserving of the gift I gave to you. No one. You are a bright thing in my life, Severus. A bright thing which I treasure and value more highly than all the gold or silver or jewels in existence. I am so glad to know you, Severus. So glad. More than you know."

Severus' face twisted oddly for a moment as he looked at his dragon. Then, he wrapped his arms around Muninn's neck and buried his face into its mane so that no one could see or hear his tears.

* * *

Things to note: Remember this story has a Wee!Snape filter. Also note that I am very aware of Severus' faults, of which he has more than his fair share. He is, as Birgit very rightly pointed out, ruthless, and heavy-handed with his hexes. I feel sorry for Sirius when he's on the receiving end of Severus' wand-happy ways.

Sorry for the lengthy period sans update. I had to actually do some work for uni. Bah. Work. Who needs it?

Hope you liked it.


	10. Chapter 10

Birch-Wood and Dragon-Heartstring

* * *

AN: As always, thanks go out to Birgit, who is, perhaps, the best beta in the world... 

Thanks must also go out to Greyfalcon, kyer (for reviews of all chapters, no less!), wynnleaf, SlythCommand, Iva and Lunatique for the reviews. If you want to know what's going on in the story in a literary sense, then just pop along to the review board and have a look at Lunatique's reviews. They are so insightful that I'm quite scared she'd already predicted the "big reveal" before I'd written it!

The "big reveal", however, is here. I do apologise for the delay. This chapter has actually been sitting, gathering dust in my hard-drive for a while now but when I first wrote it - I hated it, and I was seriously thinking of scrubbing the whole lot and starting again. I gave it some time, though, and now that I've come back to it and made a few alterations here and there, I've decided that I like it a little bit more and I feel it's ready to be shown to the world at large.

Hope you like it...

* * *

"If only you could breathe fire like all the rest," Severus snapped through chattering teeth. "Then I wouldn't be so bloody cold all the time!" 

Muninn rolled its eyes. "Severus," it replied exasperatedly, "I could not breathe fire below the _lyftedor_ even if I were able, for all of the Muggles and wizards could see us for leagues if they but chanced to glance at the sky. And, may I remind you, I am supposed to be dead."

Severus shivered grumpily. "Then I suppose I'll just have to work harder on that heating charm I've been working on."

"I suppose you shall, for you have been simply 'working on it' for quite some time," Muninn retorted, eliciting a scowl from the young wizard. "Now you must be quiet, Severus, and cease your ungodly racket if I am to set you down in the village without attracting the notice of wandering wizards."

Severus had just returned from visiting his mother in hospital - something he had been doing a lot more of recently. Not long after the Ollivander Incident, Severus had confided in Muninn, telling it just how worried he was about his mum. This was mainly down to the very strange dreams he had started to have, in which his parents were standing at one end of the lake down in the Hogwarts grounds, and he was standing at the other. Always, he tried to call to them, but they never responded. They just smiled and waved. Then he would try to run around the lake to get to them, but when he did, it seemed as though the lake had been stretched infinitely in both directions, so that reaching even one end of the lake would doubtless be a journey of several lifetimes. He knew he couldn't wait that long, so he would become agitated, and in his desperate state, he would attempt to dive into the lake and swim over to his parents - but an unseen force held him in place -and then he was forced to watch as his parents gave him a few last, cheery waves before turning their backs on him and walking off into the distance.

It was a horrible dream. Every time Severus had it, he would wake up in a cold sweat with a knot in his stomach and a screaming headache. Ever practical, though, he had went down to the library, intent on finding out whether his unsettling dreams possessed any particular meaning. He'd found nothing to his satisfaction, though, nothing concrete - not even in Trelawney's edition of Merlin's _Prophecies_, which was _the_ book on dream interpretation. When he'd left the library, the only thing he had come out with was an increased sense of foreboding.

Later that night, Muninn had taken him to the banks of Loch Fyne, which he normally loved; taking a book with him and reading it by the light of a campfire while Muninn skimmed and danced across the still surface of the loch at breakneck speed, having the time of its life. However, Severus had been so distant and snappish that night that Muninn instantly knew something was wrong, and it was not long before Severus gave in to the dragon's insistent, pestering inquiries.

After he had told Muninn about his dreams and about how worried he was for his mum, the dragon had offered to take him down south to Saint Mungos whenever he wanted. Severus had accepted gratefully and had taken up Muninn's offer the next night.

They always had to fly very quickly (though when they turned to smoke it didn't seem fast at all!) and Severus regretted not being able to see much on the way, but it was so, so worth it. This time, his dad had been there - and although Tobias' initial surprise of seeing his son turn up at the ward out of the blue two months ago had worn off, he had still been obviously happy to see him. So he had sat and chatted to his mum and dad for a few hours, and it had felt such a relief. Even though his mum wasn't getting any better, she hadn't had one of her episodes these past few times he'd visited and she was even starting to remember him and look forward to his visits.

Therefore, despite the biting chill of early Spring, Severus was feeling rather happy, though rushed off his feet. He was supposed to be meeting Lily Evans at the Hog's Head in five minutes for a quick, secret drink. It had taken a while for Evans to forgive him for the Black Cursing Incident, and it had been awkward working with her in Potions, but she'd passed him a note one day in Herbology, informing him that he had finally been forgiven and that there was an invitation for a drink in the usual place next Hogsmeade trip. He had accepted. Hence his current haste to get there on time.

The Hog's Head sat on a dingy side street, which made it a very convenient place for an underage wizard to appear out of nowhere. He slid down Muninn's tail and came back into focus as he landed on his backside with a bump. He heard Muninn snigger in the way that only dragons could and stood up, dusting himself down.

_"I will return to Hogwarts to wait for you, Severus, if that pleases you,_ Muninn said. _"For it will give me a chance to watch the humans going about their business on the way."_

Severus smiled and shook his head. It was one of those things Muninn had never quite got over. It loved watching people - loved noting all the silly, little things they did. Things that most would consider inconsequential, like getting into the shower to wash in the morning, brushing teeth, eating toast and jam, studying for a test, doing a crossword, playing music, arguing over whether eggs were best served hard or soft-boiled - things like that. It amused Severus to no end whenever he was playing the part of the captive audience and had to listen to Muninn waxing lyrical on the subject.

"Alright," he whispered in reply. "I'll see you soon. I won't be long."

He opened the creaking doors of the Hog's Head and stepped inside, a little draught of cold air drifting in behind him. The dingy pub was more crowded than usual, though that wasn't saying much. At the back in a booth, three witches were conversing in hushed tones with a gaggle of rough-looking goblins; a hag swaddled in layers of filthy rags slurped greedily at a plate of raw liver; in a corner, a couple of goats chomped away on a bale of hay; and the only other customer appeared to be a stocky wizard, hooded and cloaked, bent over a pint of Old Ogden's. No Evans. Must be early, Severus thought.

Behind the bar, the surly, bearded barkeep wiped a layer of murk onto a glass with a dirty cloth. Pulling back his hood a shade, Severus nodded curtly at him and the barkeep nodded back. He'd been in enough times to be recognised, so he never got any trouble. He ordered a Firewhisky and sat down at a table to wait for Evans.

"Haven't ever seen you in here before," a smooth voice intoned.

Severus turned his head ever so slightly to see the stocky man he'd spotted earlier. He had removed his hood to reveal a youngish-looking face: square jawed and shadowed with stubble. His hair was a sandy brown colour, longish in the front, falling over his sharp green eyes. He was smiling broadly in a way that set the alarm bells ringing in Severus' head. No one ever spoke to or smiled at strangers in the Hog's Head.

"Likewise," he replied in a way which clearly signalled the conversation was at an end.

But the man was not to be deterred.

"What're you having?" he asked, leaning over and peering at the contents of Severus' glass. "Firewhisky, eh? Fine taste. I'll think I'll have a dash of that myself."

The man raised his hood again and made his way towards the bar. Severus noted with apprehension that he neither swayed nor staggered. He was stone cold sober. So what the hell did he want? Severus prayed that Evans would show up soon.

He heard the man ordering two Firewhiskeys and his stomach twisted into a knot of fear. Flashing him a sharp, knife-edge smile, the man paid for the drinks and walked over towards Severus' table. Then he pulled up a chair and sat down. The hairs on the back of Severus' neck were standing on end, but he forced himself to iron his face and stare stonily at the interloper. Underneath the table, his hand curled around his wand, ready to curse the man into oblivion if it came to that.

The man slid the Firewhisky over to him, flashing another one of his unsettling smiles. Severus took it and set it down to one side.

"My name's Travers," the man said, leaning over and holding out a hand. "Edmund Travers at your service."

Severus shook the man's hand. "Severus Snape, at yours," he replied with a cold politeness.

Travers laughed. "Oh I know who you are," he said matter-of-factly. "I know all about you."

Severus' insides froze, but he managed to force his mouth to twist into a disbelieving sneer.

"Is that right?" he asked, sounding much more composed than he felt. "Just how much about me do you know, then, Mr Travers?"

Travers leaned back in his chair, his eyes trained skywards as he counted off facts on his fingers. "Oh, let's see now..." he said, feigning hesitation. "Well there's the fact that you're the half-blood son of the infamous blood-traitor, Eileen Prince. That you have, despite the odds, been sorted into Slytherin house - I'd say the best in the school, but then I'm biased. I have been informed by a quite a few of my associates that you are a dab hand at all sorts of hexes, curses and jinxes and even formulate your own - and I also know that you're not afraid to use them, even in front of Albus Dumbledore..."

Severus' face remained inscrutable. There was a carefully timed silence in which Travers shook his head ruefully.

"You're a talent, Snape, you really are," he said, heaving a large, melodramatic sigh. "It would be a shame to see you go to waste..."

And there it was. So much meaning behind those little words. _It would be a shame to see you go to waste..._ Was the man hiring? Looking for some underage wizard to do his dirty work so he would get off scot-free and no one would be locked up in Azkaban? He knew that sort of stuff went on in the Hog's Head, but he'd never imagined in a million years that it'd happen to him. Severus raised an eyebrow and looked Travers straight in the eye. The man smiled back at him; razor sharp, cold and unyielding. Yes, Severus thought. He must be hiring. Well, he knows where he can shove his offer. Unless...

_Blood-traitor... Slytherin house... Hexes, jinxes, curses... Afraid of Dumbledore..._

Travers wasn't hiring.

He was recruiting.

The palms of Severus' hands started to sweat and his wand threatened to clatter to the floor, giving him up. Travers went on, casually, as though he were doing nothing more sinister than reading a section from a _Prophet_ article aloud over breakfast.

"It was a shame what happened to your mother, Snape," he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "But she was lost. Wizards are not meant to breed with Muggles." He paused for a moment, then shook his head, adding, "She broke the rules, and... well...". He sighed. "Bad business, Snape, bad business."

Underneath the table, the hand that was clutching his wand was shaking with anger.

"But you could redeem yourself, Snape," Travers whispered, tilting his head to one side and searching Severus' face closely. "That option is available to you..."

Severus leaned over until his nose almost touched Travers'. His face remained blank but his black eyes were burning.

"Over my dead body," he hissed.

It seemed as though Travers had expected such a reaction, for he laughed softly and patted Severus' cheek with a casual insolence that made Severus' mouth tic.

"Not yours, Snape..." he said lightly, trailing off and leaving the implication drifting in the air between them like a pestilent fog.

Severus felt as though the whole world had shifted. He blinked several times. Then he swallowed.

"If you dare—" he began, his voice thick with suppressed fury.

Travers laughed again. There was a loud squawk as his chair scraped back across the floor. He rose to his feet and bowed to Severus. "I hope to see you again soon, Mr Snape. Give my regards to your mother and father," he said, before he Apparated out of the pub.

For a moment, Severus just sat there staring at the grimy oak-wood table before him. Then, he brought his wand out from under the table, and he began stabbing at a knot in the grain with a distracted desire to destroy something. A strange mist had settled in his mind, making thinking rather difficult. What thoughts he could make out were sinister shadows of dread and ill-fortune, and those he turned away from. They were unclear, and yet so suffocating and so close, and they terrified him. But there were other thoughts that burned brightly with red fire - further away, yes, much further, but they were clear as day - other thoughts that spoke of vengeance - and it was to these that he turned, awaking from his reverie, his black eyes burning with a cold fury.

They would pay. They would pay for what they did.

He had to go back and find Muninn to tell him what had happened. If someone was going to make an attempt on his life, then Muninn had to know. Maybe, together, they could even help come up with a plan to keep his parents safe...

Severus stood up and straightened his robes, getting ready to leave. He'd have to apologise to Evans later for not sticking around, but that was by far the least of his worries. He was about to reach in his satchel for a piece of parchment to write Evans a quick note when, outside, there was an earth-shattering explosion which made the windows of the Hog's Head rattle, illuminating the whole place with flashes of poisonous green light. Severus gasped and instinctively ducked under the table for cover along with the rest of the clientele. The flashes soon subsided. Then the screams came. Severus' eyes widened.

In a flurry of movement, he scrabbled out from under the table and sprinted for the doors, ignoring the warning shout from the barkeep. He hit them at a run and they slammed open, shrieking on their hinges.

Outside, it was getting dark; the gathering clouds casting a drifting shadow over the red twilit sky, like a livid bruise blooming upon battered flesh. The air was viscous, and the thick, wet slap of it assaulted Severus' senses. It smelled like Potions: like chemicals, acrid and artificial. It smelled like Magic: of blood and power and fear. He clamped one hand over his nose and mouth while his eyes darted quickly from left to right, his wand held out like a dagger in front of him. The alley came to a dead end a few doors down from the Hog's Head, so the only way out was along the main thoroughfare. Unfortunately, when several shadows flitted past the entrance to the alley pursued by a barrage of crackling curses, Severus realised with a cold, sinking feeling that that was precisely where he didn't want to be. He hoped against hope that Muninn had heard the explosion and would come to find him. If he just stayed put...

But the thought died instantly as a crackling, scarlet hex came whizzing over his head out of nowhere, slamming into the stone a mere inches from his head, showering him with dusty fragments of masonry. Then a scream cut through the air - a very familiar one - one that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

_Evans..._

Making a split-second decision, he darted from the relative safety of the alley and dived behind the cluster of bins the Hog's Head had put out front for collection, almost getting trampled underfoot as two frantic Ravenclaws hurtled past, dragging a gasping, injured third between them. He crouched low and peered through a gap, a strand of dark hair falling over his eyes. He was trembling slightly and an odd, urgent ache had settled in his chest. The prospect of losing the only human sort-of friend he'd ever had had provoked a startling reaction within Severus. Even though he knew from experience that it was incredibly stupid to become embroiled in a free-for-all that you weren't involved in in the first place - events and logic, it seemed, had conspired against him. So here he found himself in the thick of it, intent upon searching for Evans' familiar, red-headed figure amidst the chaos. It was much more difficult that he had counted on.

The scene unfolded in front of him as though he had altogether forsaken the waking world and had emerged instead into a dark and rushing nightmare. Zonko's roof was ablaze - presumably what had caused those flashes - and the eerie, green fire was spreading. Bits of it were breaking off and cascading to the ground like comets, the frightened students and residents fighting to dodge them and run with all their might to the relative safety of Hogwarts, dragging friends, children, loved ones, strangers behind them. However, it was not only the fire they had to contend with.

There were Death Eaters. Death Eaters in Hogsmeade.

From the looks of things, they'd Apparated in formation at the south end of Hogsmeade and had advanced up the main thoroughfare, past Dervish & Banges, Scrivenshaft's and Gladrags, running into trouble as they hit Zonko's because people had started to fight back. Wands were flashing in all directions and it had degenerated into an out-and-out free-for-all.

Suddenly, it was no longer about Evans...

He crouched low in the shadows, readying his wand, and smiled a grim smile, devoid of warmth or humour.

"They're going to pay for what they did to my mother," Severus thought savagely. "Travers is here, I know it. I'm sure he's one of them. If this turns out well, then they might finally, _finally_ leave her alone—"

The Death Eaters were winning, though, and it was looking less likely that Severus would be afforded any chance whatsoever; their discipline and experience seeing them push irresistibly through the ranks of the defenders - a motley mix of older students, the braver of the denizens of Hogsmeade, and a small band of hooded wizards and witches he didn't recognise as belonging to either the Death Eaters or Law Enforcement. One of the latter shot silver sparks up into the air, and seconds later, a silvery-white owl was speeding towards the Hogwarts castle.

As Severus deliberated over the practicalities of casting a Patronus that was clearly not being used for battle, his eyes caught sight of a particular Death Eater, standing near the back of the fold, robes fluttering in the breeze, his the bone-white mask illuminated by the unnatural, green, flickering fire-light. He was advancing upon a pair of students, one prostrate on the snow, the other standing protectively over their fallen companion, looking ready to fight to the death. Severus' eyes widened. It was Lily Evans. She had placed herself squarely in front of James Potter, directly in the line of fire, with an expression of such grim determination that Severus knew she was going to do something stupid. Terminally stupid. The Death Eater was so intent upon them, though, that he appeared completely oblivious to his surroundings.

Perfect.

Events having decided matters for him, he rose to his feet in one fluid motion, pulled his hood forward, and sprinted through the fray towards Potter, Evans and the Death Eater. As he ran, a strange calm settled over him that did not even waver when a deflected Searing Hex jarred his shoulder on the way, causing him to stumble slightly, a great, hot welt already forming upon tender skin. It was the same calm feeling he always experienced when Sweet called him up to duel in Practical Defence. Cold, calculated, detached - already planning his first move.

_"Surprise is your greatest asset in a duel, Severus. If you give your opponent a second to think, then it will be over in a flash..."_

It was plain as day that his first move had to be non-verbal, and nothing that would drain his magic. That ruled out the Killing Curse. He'd never tried it before, but he was aware that the amount of magic and force of mind it required was immense, and potentially draining. He had the advantage, though. The Death Eater had still not noticed his approach. With a thrill, Severus imagined that if he could get even closer, he could simply pull back the swine's hood and slit his throat with the Ecgþeow Charm. Either that or...

Severus felt a manic grin spreading across his face.

_It'll have to be the next best thing, then. An eye for an eye, after all..._

He stopped a few feet away from the Death Eater, who was so intent on Evans and Potter that the appearance of the shadowy, wraith-like figure behind him had went entirely unnoticed.

Severus raised his wand and concentrated.

_Crucio..._

The Death Eater moaned with pain and doubled over, dropping to the ground instantly. Severus took this as a cue to step forward and intensify his concentration. Seconds later, the Death Eater was writhing in agony, clutching at handfuls of snow with clawed fingers, his body chatting rhythmically, telling of twisted tendons and torn flesh.

His concentration almost faltered when he heard a rustle of movement ahead. It was Evans. She had hauled up the unconscious James Potter and had slung him round her shoulders, pausing in the act of dragging him off to safety to look back at the one who had saved her from harm. He felt Evans' eyes fall upon him, puzzled, disapproving, wary - yet grateful. It took him a moment to realise that she wouldn't be able to recognise him, as the hood of his cloak obscured his face. That didn't matter, though, because it wasn't about Evans anymore. He nodded curtly and Evans returned the gesture. Then she was gone - ducking behind Scrivenshaft's with Potter out of the line of fire.

And that was fine. Fine, fine, fine. If Evans got away, it was a bonus. Right now, he had more pressing matters to attend to. He prepared to fully concentrate his force of mind, just as Sweet had taught him - to control the tides of magic and thus manage and augment the waves of pain that oscillated through the twitching body of the Death Eater. But Severus' small victory was short-lived. It was his turn to be taken by surprise, and he gasped as a red streak of light ripped into his cheek. He staggered backwards, breaking the spell, and he could see a stockily built Death Eater rushing towards his fallen companion.

_Travers..._

Again, his focus shifted - as fluid and logical as water over rock - and he whirled round and attacked - not caring whether he hit any of the terrified, fleeing students - firing a Reductor curse, then another, then another, and another - aiming for arteries. Travers saw each one coming and dodged, springing away and back into the fray, firing a retaliatory Stunner before the chaos reclaimed him. Severus snarled and made to tear after him, but Travers' diversion appeared to have given the fallen Death Eater time enough to collect himself. He was on his knees, his head tilted skyward, breathing harshly, clutching at his wand with one hand and at his ribs with the other.

It seemed the bastard Travers would have to wait. So Severus resolved to make the one in front of him pay dearly in compensation.

He raised his wand and spoke the incantation.

_"Immolate."_

But the spell did not hit its target. The Death Eater's arm jerked, deflecting the spell so that it crashed through the front window of Splinter and Creek's and burst into flame. Terrified shrieks provided a stark, piercing contrast with the low, elemental roar of the encroaching flames. Severus paid no heed to the danger, however, and he snarled with frustration and tried again - wanting nothing more than to see this bastard suffer as much as his mother had suffered.

_"Immolate."_

Blocked.

_"Immolate!"_

Blocked again.

_"IMMOLATE!"_

Then his body went rigid. The world lurched suddenly, and he was toppling over onto his back, stiff as a board. The Death Eater had him. _Petrificus totalus_. That was all it had taken.

The curse was so strong that Severus' teeth were grinding together, and he felt as though they would crack under the strain. He could hear the Death Eater approaching, his footsteps gaining in confidence as he advanced. Severus' heart was hammering in his chest, and he blinked, then swallowed, as tears of rage and spite pricked at the corners of his eyes.

_I'm going to die..._

It was a fact, and he knew it, though it was an injustice. An injustice that his life would be so cruelly cut short and that he could not have the revenge he so desperately craved.

_It's mine. You can't take it away from me! It's not fair!_

A shadow passed overhead; a void where the light should have been with a bone-white mask. Severus stopped breathing and stared up at his captor. His black eyes were glassy with terror, despite his resolve, and a vague, insidious thought twisted its way into his mind which served only to make it worse.

_Is this how mum felt before they tortured her...?_

For a prolonged, terrible moment, the Death Eater surveyed Severus with a cold impassivity, before extending a hand and twitching the hood away from Severus' face. As the fabric pooled on the ground about Severus' head, however, the Death Eater did an extraordinary thing. At the very sight of Severus, he recoiled instantly as though stung by a Doxy. His masked face tilted slightly to one side as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing. And far from indifference, this time, Severus could feel intent behind the shadowy slits that passed for eyes. The Death Eater's hand came down again, more gently this time, and brushed over the great, boiling welt the errant Searing Hex had given him. Severus hissed involuntarily and then cursed himself for giving the Death Eater any reaction. But the pain didn't last long. It faded remarkably quickly - so much so that it had to have been healed.

_"What the—?"_

Severus' mind exploded in a riot of confusion, and he glared cautiously at the Death Eater. In his prostrate state, his body rebelled in vain against its impotence, and in his mind, railing against the injustice of it all, he screamed:

_"What do you want from me, coward?"_

Severus' heart almost stopped as the Death Eater knelt on the ground before him and raised his wand, though whether he was going to help him or curse him - Severus was no longer sure. He screwed his eyes tight shut, waiting for either release from his torment or unspeakable pain. But nothing came, because someone shouted something over the sweltering chaos that made the Death Eater's head whip round in alarm.

_"Finite incantatem!"_ a voice bellowed, clear as a bell, sonorous and authoritative.

The Death Eater sprang to his feet in response, only to be caught in the chest and blasted into the wall of Scrivenshafts in an explosion of orange light.

An ominous silence descended.

Everyone was watching.

The eerie green fire was gone, and the blaze Severus had started in Splinter and Creeks dissipated in a puff of smoke. It was only then that Severus realised he could move. He gasped, filling his deprived lungs with noxious air that coated the back of his throat with a bitter film. Then he sat up, only to find himself on the ground, gaping, before the imposing figure of Albus Dumbledore.

Before him stood not the benign, partisan, old baby-sitter who regularly called him up to his office for a slap on the wrist. No. This was Albus Dumbledore: Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Grindelwald's bane - and the only one the Dark Lord Voldemort feared. Now, Severus realised why.

He was awe-inspiring. Dumbledore radiated with an almost tangible aura of power, and his eyes burned with such intensity that his gaze could have rent iron. He did not look down when he addressed Severus, but his voice was strangely calm - gentle, even...

"Are you alright, Severus?"

Severus nodded shakily. "Y-Yes sir. I've suffered nothing worse than a petrifaction charm and a Searing Hex."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched upward in a smile.

"I am sincerely glad to hear it. Now, if you please, Severus. This is a rather perilous situation."

Severus nodded dumbly and scrabbled backwards across the cobbles like a crab, out of the way of Dumbledore, who squared his shoulders and began to approach the Death Eater with confident strides. In the meantime, the Death Eater had picked himself up, and, incredibly, was standing in the middle of the street, his wand hanging loose at his side, seemingly ready to face off against the greatest wizard of the age. People were backing away.

Above them, the clouds were churning and boiling in an unnatural sky, and the Death Eater had his face turned upwards to meet it, his lips muttering strange, silent syllables. Then, it began to rain.

Severus suddenly had a very, very bad feeling about this whole situation. He was so preoccupied that he jumped when a masked, robed man laid a hand upon his shoulder, and he instinctively (and accidentally) thrust the point of his wand into the man's eye.

"Peace! Peace, the twitchy young buffoon that you are! I've come to make sure you get out of here in one piece!" the man howled in a strangely familiar voice.. It the voice of one of the strangest men he'd ever met in his life, and it rang with the eccentric intelligence for which he would ever remember its owner. It was also a voice from his past - one that always dredged up unwelcome memories that he would have rather remained buried.

"Mr Diggle?" Severus said incredulously.

"Yes, Mr Diggle. Saver of Snapes, at your service," the man snapped sardonically, rubbing at his injured eye. "I would say 'How do you do?' but I see you have adopted the very rude custom of poking old acquaintances in the eyes with your wand when they approach you - so I most definitely won't bother now."

"I— What? I-I didn't mean to!" Severus retorted, bristling with indignation - temporarily forgetting all peril as Diggle mercilessly bruised his ego. "You sneaked up on me, and—!"

Diggle cut him off unceremoniously with an impatient wave of his hand. "I don't know whether you've realised, Severus, but we are in the middle of what is about to become a war zone. I am in charge of hauling those who cannot Apparate to safety - and I intend to do my duty - even though certain ungrateful wretches may try to stop me by poking me in the eye."

Severus scowled, resisting the urge to correct his would-be rescuer.

"Side-Along-Apparition is the method of choice," Diggle said briskly, "and you can like it or lump it. Now, take my arm, please."

Severus did as he was told, and at once felt the odd, suffocating rush of displacement as everything went dark. His shoulders bumped hard against Diggle's before everything came back into focus. It appeared that Diggle had Apparated just outside the school gates, and that he wasn't the only student who had been hustled away to the relative safety of Hogwarts. There was a crack beside him that made him jump, and a similarly robed and masked witch popped into being beside him with a breathless Isidore Wilkes in tow.

"Wilkes!" Severus exclaimed as the witch and Diggle Apparated out of sight without a word. He supposed they had been trusted to get up to the castle grounds on their own.

"Come on," Wilkes said, grabbing him roughly by the arm and propelling him up the slope towards the castle. "The hill. We can watch it from there. The others are probably up there already."

Sure enough, by the time both boys reached the little grassy outcrop of rock that looked out over the land surrounding towards Hogsmeade, there was already a small, select crowd of nervous, chattering students. The crowd mostly consisted of those who enjoyed Practical Defence and those who didn't possess any particular allegiance to one side or the other. As he and Wilkes jostled for a good spot, Severus caught snatches of conversations: _"I've heard Dumbledore's an amazing dueller—", "—defeated Grindelwald single-handed—", "I don't know, that Death Eater looks as though he's building up to something special—"._ Then a fourth-year Ravenclaw suggested something that made Severus' insides grow cold.

"—maybe it _is_ You-Know-Who..."

A heavy silence fell, but it was broken by an older Hufflepuff girl, who looked up from constructing a make-shift scrying pool and said harshly, "Don't be thick. He wouldn't show his face until the Death Eaters were inside the castle. Believe me, you'd know if it was You-Know-Who. He'd have cursed Dumbledore as soon as he laid eyes on him. It's more likely that he's waiting to see how his cronies get along before he shows his cards."

She gave the side of her pool a tap with her wand and the scene Severus had left behind in Hogsmeade swam into focus. The girl smiled smugly and the crowd shifted to gather around it. Severus stood up on tiptoe, but he couldn't even get a look in. All he could see were the backs of several Slytherin heads.

But he had a better idea...

It didn't take him long to find Muninn, as it was curled up on the roof near their usual meeting place - and moments later, Severus was hurtling towards Hogsmeade on the back of the dragon. The air was thick with raw magic and it crackled and sparked along their insubstantial forms as they cut a path through to the roof of Dervish and Banges, the highest building in Hogsmeade. Muninn landed soundlessly upon the slates of the cross-gable roof and came back into focus, its eyes reflecting the flashes of light from the wands of the duellers below. It was still raining here, oddly enough, and Severus almost slipped as he scrambled over the cross-beam to perch himself so that he could peer out from behind it. It wouldn't do to be knocked off the roof by an errant jinx, after all.

When he'd made himself secure, he risked taking a look. The sight that greeted his eyes sent his heart pounding with dread and excitement. Wands were blazing. Curses were screaming through the air. Witches and wizards dipped and rose and dodged and danced through the chaos. Some would fall. Others would laugh and rise and turn to face another. And there, in the middle, was the Death Eater from before - and Dumbledore. The old wizard was a fearsome sight to behold. From the tip of his wand, firebrands issued forth, and he wielded them like whips, attempting to snare the Death Eater. Even up here the heat was immense, and Severus could only imagine what it was like down below. He was so intent on watching the battle unfold, that he didn't hear what Muninn had said the first time.

"Severus? Are you listening to me?"

Severus blinked. "Sorry, what?" he said distractedly, turning to face the dragon.

"The sky, Severus. It is in turmoil..."

Muninn's narrow head was trained towards the clouds above. Severus' brow furrowed and he followed its gaze, feeling the rain pattering upon his exposed face. There wasn't a more appropriate word to describe it. The sky, did indeed, look as though it was in turmoil. It looked like a giant bruise, the swirling clouds tinged green-grey and purple, lightning crackling along their lining.

"Oh..." he said, slowly. "That doesn't look good. That really doesn't look good. Maybe we should—"

Then, just as the words left his mouth, the Death Eater stopped running from Dumbledore's onslaught, skidded - almost tumbling to the ground before steadying himself - and, turning to face Dumbledore in a maelstrom of swirling black robes, he thrust his wand in the air and screamed:

_"Fulgurato!"_

Severus had only ever heard a sound like it once. There were pylons not far from the Muggle primary school he had went to, and one day, when everyone was out playing in the playground, a fuse had blown. The noise the great surge of electricity had made as it escaped and plunged into the ground was terrifying. This noise was similar, but at least a hundred times louder, and with it, a great bolt of unnatural, green lightning forked from the sky and earthed itself in the Death Eater's wand, hanging there for a moment, suspended between earth and air, before it snapped as the Death Eater swung his wand up over his head and sent it thundering towards Dumbledore, who had a split second to react.

Severus felt himself screaming something incoherent as he willed Dumbledore to get the hell out of the way.

And react Dumbledore did. He disappeared in a puff of smoke, the bolt shredding through an unsuspecting Death Eater, who didn't even have time to scream before his body collapsed on the ground, sizzling and convulsing. Severus imagined he could smell the stench of it from the roof, and fought back a sudden wave of nausea. But where was the Headmaster? His eyes swept across the melee, searching from his high vantage point for Dumbledore. The Death Eater appeared to be doing the same, twitching round again and again, his wand held like a sword in front of him, looking to see where the old wizard would materialise.

The headmaster reappeared in a blinding flash. Ropes of light cascaded from the tip of his wand and began to writhe around the Death Eater, constricting him, blinding him. Instinctively, Severus raised a hand to shield his eyes; he knew the light burned, as he could hear the Death Eater screaming.

The duel was far from over, however, for the Death Eater retaliated, and at a response of an arcane incantation, shadowy, whip-like tentacles burst forth from the ground and latched onto Dumbledore, pulsing wetly and oozing black oil, snapping and sucking, dragging him down towards the earth like an ancient and terrible creature from the deep. The tentacles slithered upwards and found Dumbledore's nose and mouth, hovering above them for a brief moment as though appraising their victim, before plunging in. Severus gasped with horror, and even Muninn snorted with surprise. It was horrible. It looked like Dumbledore was being devoured by a Lethifold - only that a Patronus, however strong, couldn't have done anything to save him.

But... Dumbledore was holding on - winning, even - and Severus knew this by the fact that the Death Eater was now completely encased in light, shrieking in agony.

It was a battle of wills. The Death Eater, ensnared by light. Dumbledore, drowning in darkness.

_Please..._

The black tentacles gave a great lurch and enveloped Dumbledore completely. Severus felt himself hiss with anticipation and dread, his hands tightening their grip on the crossbeam.

_Headmaster, please..._

Suddenly, the ball of light contracted and the figure encased within managed to Apparate. For a moment, the light wavered uncertainly before exploding with a sound like that of breaking glass, jettisoning millions of glittering shards out into the twilight. The oily tendrils of shadow gave a shudder, and then withdrew, returning swiftly and smoothly to the earth as though compelled by an unseen hand. Dumbledore emerged from the dark, taking in gasps of air as he did so. He wasn't covered in slimy, black oil, like Severus imagined he would be - but he coughed, and Muninn said it saw something black spattering onto the cobbles below.

The battle didn't last much longer when Dumbledore was free to deal with the rest of the Death Eaters. The witches and wizards in silver robes fought with a new, more ferocious confidence with the Headmaster on their side - and within mere minutes, the Death Eaters were being pushed back further and further.

With a grin, Severus gave Muninn's mane a tug and the dragon turned round. He jerked his head in the direction of Hogwarts and Muninn nodded, motioning for him to climb on. Severus decided that he'd seen enough. He knew without doubt that Dumbledore and the silver robed witches and wizards would win the day. After all, it was as it had been said up on the hill: Dumbledore really _was_ an amazing dueller. There was also the fact that if he didn't get back up to school soon, he'd be in a whole lot of trouble.

Severus soon felt the familiar feeling of turning to smoke and then Muninn was airborne, carrying him upon swift wings back to the school grounds.

"That was quite a spectacle, was it not, Severus?" Muninn asked excitedly.

"God, yes," Severus snorted. "Best duel I've ever seen! And I had by far the best view. Sod the rest of them and their stupid scrying pools."

Muninn laughed. "It might cheer you to know that it was one of the best wizarding duels I have ever seen, and I have lived for quite a bit longer than you."

Severus grinned incredulously. "Honestly?"

"I am being perfectly honest," Muninn replied, smiling.

Severus punched the air and would have toppled off Muninn if he hadn't grabbed, wild-eyed, onto the dragon's mane at the last minute.

"Watch yourself, Severus, or you'll never live to see another one," Muninn warned.

Severus nodded weakly and held on tight.

"Now, where would you like me to deposit you?"

Severus thought for a moment about somewhere near the grassy outcrop at the hill so that he could boast about having seen the duel, too, but another thought entirely sprang to the forefront of his mind, one which made him smile to think about.

"Take me to the Entrance Hall," he said. "I'm going to visit Sweet to let him know I'm okay. Then I'm going to tell him what he missed. He's going to be green with envy!"

The dragon laughed its low, rumbling laugh. "Very well, Severus. It shall be done..."

True to its word, Muninn dropped him off at the usual place and Severus sprinted round to the Entrance Hall. He spied the Hufflepuff girl and her friend who were also making a last, surreptitious dash attempt to make it inside without getting into too much bother, so he put on a burst of speed and nipped in beside them. It hadn't been worth the effort, because as soon as he stepped foot inside, Professor McGonagall spotted them and stormed over, her cheeks tinged with colour and her lips pursed tightly.

"Hortensia! Evangeline! And you, Mister Snape— don't think I can't see you! Do you think my head zips up the back?" She stopped and stood with her hands planted firmly on her hips, her nostrils flaring slightly. "Where on earth have you been? And you, particularly, Mister Snape, for Dedalus Diggle said you were one of the first ones to be brought here!"

Severus felt all eyes boring into him expectantly. McGonagall's because she wanted an explanation from him; Hortensia and Evangeline's because, though they wanted an explanation from him, they wanted one that would get them out of trouble.

He thought for a moment, and then decided upon a half truth - one he knew McGonagall would believe of him at least. Let the others fend for themselves.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I can't speak for everyone, but I wanted to watch the Headmaster duelling."

If it was at all possible, McGonagall's lips seemed thin even further, but there was also a hint of curiosity, of worry, there that wasn't before.

"And how did it go, Mr Snape," she said, a little more quietly, an odd, strained expression tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Professor Dumbledore won, if that's what you're asking," he replied, with a small, secretive smile. "The Death Eaters are being driven back as we speak. They're probably all gone by now." The scrying pool Hufflepuff girl smiled and nodded, too, as if to back him up.

McGonagall sagged with relief, unable to resist a smile. Then her face suddenly ironed itself back into position, and she was once again the formidable Gryffindor housemistress.

"That was incredibly, incredibly reckless of you to disappear like that in order to satisfy your petty curiosities considering the circumstances," she said sternly, brandishing an admonishing finger, "and, as a result, ten points each will be deducted from your respective houses." She gave each of her offending students a grave look, which set them awkwardly scuffing at the flagstones with their feet. "Now, none of you are in any way injured?"

They all shook their heads.

McGonagall nodded. "Then I suggest you return to your Common Rooms and stay there until you are given permission to leave. Do I make myself clear?"

They all nodded. The Professor had made herself _perfectly_ clear.

"Then off you go."

Severus and the two Hufflepuff girls parted ways, the girls heading up to their tower, and Severus towards the dungeons, which he veered away from when he was certain everyone was too busy dashing around like headless chickens to notice. He made his way up to the Ravenclaw tower, towards Sweet's office, getting a few funny looks from some straggling Ravenclaws on the way, which he ignored. He turned off and headed down the corridor where Potter, Black and Pettigrew had cornered him in his first year. It was empty. The Ravenclaws had appeared to have taken McGonagall's warning to heart. Maybe the ones who were up on the hill had had points taken off them too. Severus hoped so.

But as he drew nearer to Sweet's office, Severus suddenly realised that there was something wrong. Very wrong.

Muffled crashes and bangs were coming from inside. There was a sound of glass breaking, then that of books and paper being swept from a desk and scattered to the floor. He could hear someone pacing frantically, their footfalls loud and clear, but erratic. Then he heard a low, ghostly moan and a thud as something, or someone, slid to the floor.

All the alarm bells were ringing in Severus's head, warning him not to step foot inside that office, but he began to approach despite himself, his curiosity getting the better of him. Slowly, warily, he crept down the corridor. The door to Sweet's office was slightly ajar. He hesitated for a brief moment, unsure of whether he really wanted to see what was going on inside, and then the sound of Sweet's hoarse, broken voice risen into a choked sob settled it for him.

_Professor Sweet?_

He took a silent step forward and peered round the door just as a white something flashed past his head and hit the wall, dropping to the floor unscathed with a strangely ponderous, hollow thud. It was a bone-white something. A porcelain something with slits for eyes...

_No. Not possible..._

Severus's head suddenly felt treacherously light, and his knees somehow refused to support him. He stumbled slightly, and caught hold of the doorframe. The door slid open a shade further. He could see Sweet now, collapsed in a heap on the floor, his pale face streaked red with tears. His mouth was open slightly, and he was staring, unseeing, at the opposite wall, rocking gently back and forth. A cloak, black as midnight, lay discarded upon the floor next to the fireplace: the fireplace which was still smoking slightly...

Severus fought the urge to be sick as his mind struggled to absorb the terrible truth of what he had just witnessed, singing the same twisted refrain over and over again...

_He's a Death Eater. He never liked you at all. Never. He was only interested in you because he wanted to sell your soul to the Dark Lord. You were stupid and you let your guard down. Muninn always said he never trusted him, but you were blind. He was friends with your mum at school. It must have been him. He must have been the one who hurt mum. It had to have been him. It must have..._

The red mist began to descend, creeping insidiously into the corners of his mind, filling it with thoughts of blood and vengeance and clouding his judgement. His fist curled around his wand. His hands were trembling violently, but his purpose was clear.

He would not be played any longer, by anyone; and he would exact his revenge - no matter what came after, no matter what affect it had on him.

But just as Severus was about to draw his wand and attempt the most infamous of the three Unforgivable Curses, something peculiar happened that made all thoughts of retribution vanish like so much as dust, replacing it with a strange, stirring curiosity - like that when he first discovered that Sweet and his mother had been friends all those years ago on the Hogwarts Express. Sweet spoke, muttering through what seemed like madness, his voice thick with emotion.

"Eileen, my love..." he said. "Forgive me, Eileen. Please..."

_What...?_

Severus felt as though a cold hand had wrapped itself around his heart.

_Mum...?_

He placed a pale and unsteady hand against the door and tentatively pushed it open, stepping inside. Sweet still hadn't noticed him, and he went on, his vacant, staring eyes glazed over with a pain that Severus tried to force himself to ignore.

"I did not know..." he whispered. "I did not know it was Severus... and... and I almost hurt him. I swore to you when... I swore to you that I would look after him as though he were my own, but—"

A floorboard creaked and Severus hesitated. Sweet trailed off, and he looked up and finally saw Severus. He didn't respond at all. He just sat there and stared - though his red-rimmed eyes were begging, begging for Severus to understand, begging for him not to turn away.

As he stood there with one hand on the door, Severus seriously thought about turning away: running back down the corridor, back to his dormitory where he could throw everything he owned in his trunk and call for Muninn and be speeding away from Hogwarts for good; away from everything that was complicated; everything that made him worry so much he couldn't sleep at night; everything that made his insides twist with rage, betrayal and injustice; everything that made him want to cry and cry until he was sick in the basin of the boys' bathroom in the Slytherin Common Room.

But he didn't do that.

Instead, he took another step inside and closed the door gently behind him. Sweet flinched at the sound, but said nothing. Then he took a deep breath to steady himself, and the words came out slowly and clearly.

"The truth," he said. "I want the truth. Now."


End file.
